


Ruthless Game

by angellwings



Series: You're My Achilles' Heel [1]
Category: Leverage
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Comedy, Drama, Episode: s03e15 The Big Bang Job, Episode: s03e16 The San Lorenzo Job, F/M, Family, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, POV Original Female Character, Romance, Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-09
Updated: 2015-08-17
Packaged: 2018-03-17 01:48:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 27,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3510668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angellwings/pseuds/angellwings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She’d said she was guaranteed to die right? So, if he were going to kill her then why the hell wouldn’t she give him a reason to do so? She’d been passing files and tips to the Italians for years on what companies Moreau had his hands in. They were little wins, but at least it was something. Moreau had gotten considerably more irritable as months went on. He was losing money and investments due to seemingly freak accidents. He’d taken some of that frustration out on her but it wasn’t anything she wasn’t used to. She could take it, if it meant somebody would put him away. COMPLETE.</p><p>Part two (Mosaic Broken Hearts) has started! Check it out!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Take it and Run

**Author's Note:**

> For years now I've been hesitant to write OC stories. In some fandoms they are met with great hostility and that's the background I come from but in the case of this character, well, she would not leave me alone. She kept coming back again and again until finally I started this. So, I hope you all enjoy it! I've written a lot of fan fiction in my day but this is probably the most nervous I've been about a story.  
> Thanks for reading!  
> angellwings

So, this was her fucking life. She could whine about it. She could loathe herself and what she’d become _or_ she could take it and run. Try to do some good before her premature death, not to redeem herself but just to make her pathetic life worth something in the grand scheme of things.  She was going to hell either way, but if she were going then she’d save some lives on her way out. What was the best way for her to do that in her current situation?

Why, inform on Damien Moreau, of course.

She’d said she was guaranteed to die right? So, if he were going to kill her then why the hell wouldn’t she give him a reason to do so? She’d been passing files and tips to the Italians for years on what companies Moreau had his hands in. They were little wins, but at least it was something. Moreau had gotten considerably more irritable as months went on. He was losing money and investments due to seemingly freak accidents. He’d taken some of that frustration out on her but it wasn’t anything she wasn’t used to. She could take it, if it meant somebody would put him away.

She walked out onto the balcony in her room and smiled at the cityscape in front of her. She hadn’t been in the States for an extended period of time since she was 14. That was one of the good things that came from the way the Italians had chosen to come at Moreau. It brought him to the states and subsequently brought her home. An arm snaked around her waist and another across her neck just under her chin. A pair of lips ran across the crook of her neck and she felt someone breathe in her scent. It took everything in her not to shudder in disgust.

“Oh, Claire,” Moreau said with a chuckle. “How long have you been with me now? Seven years? Feels like just yesterday I caught you trying to seduce a meal and a bed out of the rich imbeciles at my fundraising dinner. Nineteen years old and all wits and guts. I knew you’d be my favorite from the first moment I saw you.”

Did he? Well, he could have at least warned _her_ then. She would have run as fast as she could in the other direction. She took in a slow breath and put on her game face. She’d been grifting since she was 14 and she’d been deceiving Moreau for over 5 years. She could keep going. _She could_ and she would.

She turned in his arms and wrapped her arms around his neck and smiled sweetly at him. She purposefully thickened her southern accent knowing it would only add to her deception. “I wish you would have told me that. I would have charmed you sooner.”

He quirked a brow at her and grinned. “Even with Spencer around?”

She laughed and shook her head. “If I’d had to choose between you and Spencer it would have been a no brainer, sweetie. Who wants the muscle when she can have the brain?”

He smiled slowly. “Very astute observation, my dear.”

He started to lean in to kiss her and she slipped into the mind of her character. She’d created an alternate Claire in her head years ago, who actually cared about Moreau. In times like these that’s who she pretended to be. But luckily, she was saved by a knock at the door.

Moreau sighed and reluctantly answered the door. “Yes?”

“Sorry, boss, you said to come and get you when the call came in,” his head of security, Chapman, said as he stood in the doorway.

“So, I did,” he said before he turned to Claire and winked at her. “We’ll finish this later, my love.”

She smiled softly at him and nodded. “I’ll be waiting.”

And she really would be too. He never let her out of the hotels they stayed at. He may claim to love her but he certainly didn’t trust her. Which, as it turns out, was a smart decision on his part. He already trusted her with too much information for her own good. 

That information was the very thing that was going to get her killed.

 

* * *

 

She changed clothes into a form fitting body-con dress, did her make up in the subtle natural way Moreau liked, and then headed for the door of her room. She stashed the phone Moreau let her have in her clutch and hid an extra one in her jacket pocket. She wasn’t naïve enough to think that Moreau didn’t have her room bugged or that he hadn’t stashed a button cam somewhere. She stepped out of her room and was immediately greeted by Chapman.

“What are you doing here?” She asked with a scowl. This was the man who had replaced Eliot. He was inferior to Eliot in every way she could possibly imagine.

“Moreau assigned me to you for the day,” he said with a smirk. “It seems he’s afraid you might run now that we’re back on your home turf.”

She rolled her eyes. “Why would I run? I have no where to go and we both know he’d find me before I could make it out of the building.”

“Still, he thought it was best if I keep an eye on you until the party later,” Chapman told her.

“Party?” Claire asked with a sigh. “You mean that hour and half he spends wooing bimbos in bikinis every where we stop? He doesn’t honestly expect me to be there does he?”

“He expects you every where he goes. You know this,” Chapman said sternly. “You may want to rethink the way you talk about him. I don’t see him tolerating such blatant disrespect.”

She scoffed and then chuckled dryly. “I’ve been with Moreau much longer than you have. I think I know better than anyone what he expects from me. You mind your manners and I’ll mind mine. Clear?”

Chapman reached out suddenly and grasped her other arm tightly. It hurt. Really hurt. She was almost certain she’d have a bruise later. He was glaring at her with seething anger. She wasn’t quite sure what she’d done to deserve it, but Chapman was unstable at best.

“Now, now,” Claire said with confidence she didn’t quite feel. “You wouldn’t want Moreau to see that bruise at the party later, would you? How would I explain it to him? And how do you think he’d react to another man touching me?”

He scowled and released her forcefully. So forcefully that she rebounded against the wall and hit her shoulder. Hard. Why the hell did she stay here? Why did she stay with these people who cared for her so little? She glared at the hitman and turned on her heel to head toward the elevator.

“I’m going to the bar,” she said as she waved a dismissive hand over her head. “Come and get me if I’m needed.”

She waited to hear his footsteps behind her but none came. She turned her head ever so slightly and instead found him whispering on his phone. He called someone. She wondered if he was tattling to Moreau. Probably. The elevator doors closed and he still hadn’t followed her. She breathed a sigh of relief. That was lucky. It gave her a few minutes head start on him. Not much but enough.

She walked briskly to the bar and worried Chapman would catch up with her before she could manage to make it there without him. She made it and casually glanced around the bar. The security cameras covered every angle but one. She noticed the blind corner and used her peripherals to see if her suspicions were correct.

They were. The Italian was waiting on her. She slipped into the corner booth across from the Italian and wordless pulled a pen from her purse. She unwrapped the silverware from the cloth napkin and scribbled a message.

_Party. Pool. Wear a bikini._

She slid the napkin across the table and then silently left to sit at the bar. Just as she sat down Chapman stepped inside. He observed her coolly as she ordered a Cosmo and sat down next to her.

“Did you tell on me to my Sugar Daddy?” She asked bitingly.

He grunted in response and glared at her again. Did he know that a non-committal response was essentially a yes? Probably not. He was security. Not a grifter.

She sat at the bar and people watched for a long time. It was actually sort of freeing to sit and observe people who were unaware of Damien Moreau’s existence. She liked believing that there was life outside of him and that there were people alive who were safe from him. For the most part. Because no one could be safe from him completely.

Finally Chapman stood up and gave her a stern glare. “Let’s go. The party’s in a few minutes.”

“I’m not walking in with the rest of those skanks,” she spat. She’d gotten very good at playing off her hatred of Moreau as superiority over everyone else in his crew. She let them believe that being Moreau’s favorite had gone to her head. It always worked. “We can wait a few more minutes.”

“You can,” he told her. “But I can’t. I need to be the first one there to inspect the site.”

“Well then go,” she sneered. “I’m not stopping you.”

“If I show up without you he will have my head.”

She giggled and took a long sip of her drink. “I’m still not seeing the problem. Whether or not you keep your head is no nevermind to me.”

He snatched the drink out of her hand and ripped her up off the barstool. “I am not here to baby sit you, and you are not here to pull rank. We are both here to follow orders. I’m done with your shit, Lanier.”

He grabbed her in the same place as before. Yes, definitely there would be a bruise, but she’d pissed him off if the use of her last name was any indication. Which made the bruise totally worth it. Terrorizing Moreau’s men was the only fun she had left in life anymore. He dragged her behind him and didn’t seem to care about the stares and pitying looks they were receiving as he carted her through the lobby of The Governor Hotel. He kept a tight hold on her all the way to her room. He opened the door with a key, where he’d gotten it she had no idea, and literally tossed her inside.

“Get dressed. You have ten minutes,” he spat as he closed the door. She rubbed her red and sore arm and wondered why she didn’t use any of the tricks Eliot had taught her on Chapman and just run away. The answer came back from the furthest corner of her mind very quickly.

Because Moreau would kill you before you got the chance to take him down. And she desperately wanted to take him down.

The burner phone in her jacket pocket buzzed and she grabbed her clothes to change into before ducking into the bathroom to check it. It was a risk, but with Chapman watching her every move she’d have no other opportunity.

_“I’m in_ ,” it said plainly. She grinned. The Italian had inserted herself into Moreau’s horde of poor naive girls. They saw a charismatic man with money and not the cold-hearted killer that he really was. She’d love to tell them all to run and run fast like she should have done all those years ago. But she couldn’t do that without blowing her cover.

 


	2. Chapter One: Let's Catch Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moreau's party at The Governor Hotel has a few surprise guests.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not going to be a habit, but since my first post was a prologue I'll make an exception. I tend to post once a week so expect a chapter every Sunday or Monday. :) Hope you guys are enjoying it!   
> Happy reading!  
> angellwings

 

She sighed and changed into her backless gold one piece and black open front cover up. Moreau liked her to be more covered than the other girls. She was different, he’d told her. She was of a separate and better class than the girls they picked up in each city. But when it came down to it, she knew what that meant…

She was his trophy. She represented his victory over the supposedly unstoppable Eliot Spencer. The fact that she and Eliot had once been _something_ always nagged at Moreau. All these years after Eliot left and he still couldn’t let it go. Not that she could blame him. He’d defeated her. He’d defeated _them_. And she was terrified that he’d one day use that to his advantage, or worse _use her,_ to take out Eliot for good.

She wasn’t religious and hadn’t been for sometime, but every night she prayed that Eliot stayed far away from Damien Moreau. She had a feeling their next meeting would be… _messy_.

She’d just finished changing when Chapman burst into the room and pounded on the bathroom door.

“Let’s go, princess. He’s waiting.”

She jerked the door open and pushed past Chapman. “If you ever call me princess again, I swear to God I will go Eliot Spencer on your ass. You got that?”

He chuckled at her and then swept his gaze over the length of her body. “Still hung up on him, are you? Well, forgive me, but your threats fall on deaf ears. You could not harm a fly and you certainly don’t scare me.”

She huffed and stormed out her room with Chapman trailing behind. The elevator was silent as they headed down to the pool and Claire thought it was a miracle. She’d had enough of talking to Chapman for one day. They opened on the pool level and Chapman led her to Damien who was already lounging in a robe on a chez. He stood when he saw her and smiled warmly.

It’s too bad that warm smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“Darling,” he exclaimed. “You’re wearing the suit I bought you. Do you like it?”

She nodded and removed her cover up. He’d want to see the full effect of the plunging neckline and her exposed back. She twirled for him and then placed a quick kiss on his lips when she faced him again. Instinctually slipping back into her accent. “I love it, Sugar.”

“I thought you would,” he said with a grin. “Now, go tell the new girls what they’re to do. Will you? I’m not sure we’ll be keeping most of them. I need them ready to go when my associates arrive.”

She nodded. “Of course, Damien.”

“And tell Magdalena she’ll be serving today. Compliment her on her choice of swimwear as well for me, dear. She did quite well,” he told her with a smirk. She knew what he wanted from her and she played her part well. She crossed her arms over her chest, furrowed her brow, and pursed her lips.

“If I must,” she said through her teeth. Her jealousy was forced, but he didn’t know that.

He chuckled and walked over to kiss her temple. “No need to worry. You will always be my favorite.”

That’s what she was worried about, she thought as she smiled at him and then turned to find the girls Damien’s men had recruited.

She resisted the urge to wince at the sight of them. These girls were children. The youngest looked barely 18, but then she’d been 19 when Damien found her so that shouldn’t be a surprise to her. They had no idea who they were getting into bed with. She educated them on the ‘business associates’ to look out for at the party. They were there to distract and persuade and keep the men happy and their ego’s stroked. No more, no less. They were not to be any friendlier than strictly necessary.

Magdalena had looked nothing short of relieved when Claire relayed Damien’s message. Magdalena had been with the crew for just over a year and was starting to understand her mistake. Claire feared the girl would one day end up like her. It was yet another reason to help the Italians take down Moreau.

“Okay,” she said with a deep breath. “Does every one know what they’re supposed to do?”

The girls nodded but all looked equally nervous.

She sighed and gave them an encouraging look before she leaned toward them to whisper in a conspiring tone “You’ll be fine. Just never let them see how intelligent you are.  Play the sweet and innocent card and you’ll succeed every time. There’s nothing these men underestimate more than a woman.” She paused and smiled softly when they all seemed to sit up straighter. “Good. Now, places.”

The girls headed toward the hot tub to await the guests and Claire returned to her place beside of Moreau. He patted the small space next to him on his chez and she joined him. She leaned back against his chest and worked her hardest at maintaining her role. Never show weakness. Never flinch at his touch, she reminded herself. Pretend to enjoy it like you do everything else. They sat in silence for a few minutes before Damien noticed the bruise on her arm.

“You know,” he said quietly. “That would happen less often if you would simply show my men the respect they deserve.”

She felt her blood start to boil as it always did during these lectures, but instead of punching him in the solar plexus like she wanted to she gave him an apologetic glance with her biggest most innocent eyes and nodded. “You’re right. I know. I’m sorry, but the way they talk to me sometimes, well, you’d never know you cared for me at all with the way they treat me.”

“I see,” he said tensely. “Well, I will make sure they speak to you with greater care from now on. But you, in turn, must be more respectful. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Damien,” she said automatically. “I understand.”

“Good,” he said before he placed a kiss on her lips. “Now, I’m going to go enjoy the sauna for a moment before our guests arrive. Would you mind checking on the refreshments me for me, love?”

She smiled and shook her head. “No, of course not, Sugar.” She stood first and headed back toward the kitchen that was kept on the pool level for private parties. The Italian was waiting for her in the kitchen.

“I’ve brought in reinforcements,” The Italian told her in a whisper. “They should be arriving any day now.”

“What sort of reinforcements?” Claire asked as she glanced around to make sure no one was watching.

The Italian merely smirked at her secretively. “Leverage.”

She opened her mouth to ask for more information but there was a commotion outside and one of the girls shouted in alarm. Claire hurried back out to the pool and instantly felt the color drain from her face at the sight that greeted her. Eliot was surrounded by Moreau’s men with all their guns drawn on him and the man that was with him. Eliot was here.

_Eliot_.

“No,” she whispered under breath. Her skin crawled and all of her fears she pushed aside came raging to the forefront of her mind. He shouldn’t be here.

Moreau exited the Sauna and smiled as he spotted Eliot. She knew that smile. It was his cat-that-ate-the-canary smile. This was not good. This would never be good. Moreau held up his hand to stop Claire as she took several steps forward and she forced herself to stand still. She could not let her guard slip. Not even for Eliot.

“That’s no way to treat an old friend,” he said as he approached the circle of guns.

Slowly Chapman and his men lowered their weapons as Eliot acknowledged Moreau’s presence.

“Damien,” he said warily.

“Let’s catch up,” Damien said with that same knowing smile.

Get out, her mind screamed. Get the fuck out, Eliot. She closed her eyes and willed him to change his mind about whatever the hell he was here to do and just _get out._ He hadn’t seen her yet, and she hoped he never did. Let him think she’d found a way out like she’d told him she would. That would be best. For all of them.

Damien was wary of Eliot too and in order to continue talking he insisted to have the other man that came with him handcuffed to a chair. They were giving Damien a story about a deal they wanted to make with him. But any grifter worth their salt could see through that. Damien sat down across from the other man and looked at Eliot as he sat.

“You work alone.”

“Things change,” Eliot said with his usual blank expression. There was anger just under the surface and maybe a little apprehension, but only someone who really knew him would be able to see that. And Damien had no idea who Eliot was or exactly what he was capable of. He thought he knew, but he didn’t.

“Don’t take it personally,” Damien told the other man. “It takes me a while to warm up to people.”

The other man waved off the comment dismissively. He was terrified though. She could see it on him. He was not a trained grifter. They needed to be careful. Damien was far from stupid. He would look for any cracks in their story and if it failed his inspection…

They wouldn’t walk out alive. Well, Eliot might, but his friend wouldn’t.

Magdalena approached with a tray of champagne glasses and offered them to the two men.

“He prefers beer,” Moreau told her as he took a sip of his own drink. Moreau reached behind him and waved Claire over. She gulped nervously. This is what she’d been afraid of. “Claire, darling, fetch the man a beer will you?”

Eliot froze. She froze. And his eyes finally found her in the crew of people. In a flash she saw concern, anger, and resentment and then it was gone. He was back to being stoic. Claire dutifully went to the serving tray and retrieved one of the beers that had been chilling and used a near by serving cart to open the bottle. She slammed the metal lid against it at just the right angle and the lid popped off in her hand. Eliot had taught her that. She approached him slowly but stayed an arms length away as she offered him the beer.

“Claire, where are your manners? Aren’t you going to say hello to the man?” Moreau said with a smirk.

She took a deep breath and smiled weakly at Eliot. She leaned into his space and kissed both of his cheeks just as she would any of Moreau’s particularly close business associates. She stepped back and dared to look him in the eye. “It’s good to see you again, Eliot.” She could not let Moreau see how desperately she wanted to latch on to the Hitter right then. She could not let Moreau notice how her face was flushing and her pulse was racing. “You look good.”

He gave her a tiny smile in return just before his eyes landed on the hand print sized bruise on her arm. She could have sworn she saw his muscles tense as he replied, “You too, darlin’. You too.”

She extended the beer to him again and he waved it off.

“I don’t think I’ll be stayin’ for drinks,” Eliot told her as he shifted his focus back to Moreau.

She stepped back to stand by Moreau’s chair and he quickly put a possessive arm around her waist and pulled her into his lap.

“Is this one of your retrieval jobs, Eliot?” Moreau asked as he placed a hand on her knee. He was showing her off. Rubbing her in Eliot’s face. Of all the things she’d been forced to do over the years, this one felt the worst. She focused on the terry cloth of Moreau’s robe and avoided looking at Eliot at all costs. “Tell me, who’s Snoopy lunchbox do I have?”

“It’s not a retrieval. I’m escortin’ the middleman. I’m contracted to make sure he gets in _and out_ with the offer.”

His voice made her want to break down and cry right there. Not because of his tone. He had no tone. But just because it was _his_ voice. She never thought she’d hear that accent again, and there it was. But he still felt so far away. She felt his eyes on her and tried to steady her breathing and her heartbeat. Moreau was holding her so close that he’d surely notice if she didn’t.

“Pardon, Monsieur,” his friend said hesitantly with a truly stereotypical French accent. She was again reminded of how untrained this man was. He had some experience and some training, but not enough to face Moreau. “My client has heard of what you’re selling and would like to acquire the Ram’s Horn.”

That was the big deal Moreau had kept her away from. She recognized the name.

“And your client is?” Moreau asked. He was skeptical and she didn’t blame him.

“If you indulge us with the details of the auction we can make a bid. All will be revealed. I assure you we are working in good faith,” the man said as he leaned back in his chair casually. Claire grinned to herself. Okay, he was getting better. Maybe it just took him a minute to get into the role.

“I’m sure you are. I’m sure you are,” Damien told him. “But I don’t know you.” He looked up at Eliot and continued. “I do know _you_. We could talk.”

Moreau’s hand slipped into her hair as Eliot answered him. There was something hidden in his answer, but she couldn’t quite tell what it was. “I ain’t much on talking, Moreau.”

“Okay,” Moreau said in a decisive tone. “Let’s keep it short.” Moreau shuffled her out of his lap and she stood off to the side as he stood up and kicked the man and the chair he was handcuffed to in to the pool. She would have jumped, except nothing Moreau did surprised her anymore. “I’m sure you told your clients I don’t do business with strangers.”

“That’s why I’m here,” Eliot said. “To vouch for ‘em.”

“Oh, a little vague,” Damien said as he shook his head.

“I never told anybody about you,” Eliot told him. “I use the same confidentiality with all my clients. However, I can say, they’re overseas. You sell it to the international buyers, it leaves US soil immediately – no trace back to you.”

Thank god for Eliot, Claire thought. He was turning this game they were playing around. Good.

Moreau looked interested but wasn’t sold. “I already have international buyers, so, uh, it’s not an issue.” He slowly considered his option and reached for his drink. Claire’s eyes drifted to the man in the pool with concern. He couldn’t have that much time left. “What else you got?”

Eliot glanced hesitantly at Claire and Moreau’s men and Moreau go the hint. He turned to all of them and waved them away. “Leave us for a moment.” Before Claire could walk away Moreau grabbed her and planted a hard kiss on her lips. The motivations behind it left her feeling dirtier than any of his other kisses. He was trying to hurt Eliot, to throw him off his game and look for any weakness. But, to his credit, Eliot looked undisturbed by the display. Chapman grabbed her bruised arm savagely and she hissed in pain before she even knew what was happening.

Moreau made no move to stop Chapman and kept his eyes on Eliot. She thought she saw Eliot twitch just slightly. She glared at Chapman and longed to punch that self-satisfied smirk off of his face.

“You know, for a moment,” she heard Moreau say as she was led to the kitchen. “I thought you were here to take her away from me.”

Eliot’s gravelly voice spoke but betrayed no emotion. “She made her choice.”

And then she couldn’t hear them any longer. Chapman closed the door with her and everyone else still inside the kitchen while he stood guard outside it to let them know when they could come out again. Not even a minute later she could hear Damien asking Chapman for the keys to the handcuffs and she was being led out of the kitchen just as the other man was emerging from the pool. She wondered what Eliot had sweetened the pot with to get Moreau to act so quickly.

The man was shivering as he spoke. “And what message I should convey to my employer?”

Moreau laughed and gave Eliot an amused glance. “I like this one.” He turned back to the other man. “Glad we could strike a deal.” He smirked at Eliot before he continued. “Reminds me of Belgrade.” Moreau turned and walked away from Eliot before he found her and smiled brightly. “Did you enjoy the show, my dear?” He asked brightly. “It’s always nice to see old friends again, isn’t it?”

He was testing her.

She shrugged and made sure to lay on her accent much thicker than she had earlier. “I don’t know that I’d call him a friend, sweetheart. Besides, if you ask me he looked a little tired. I think he’s getting too old for this.” 

Moreau grinned at her and laughed. “Yes, you’re right. Maybe he is. Glad to see you’ve left him behind, my love.”

“I’m not going to dwell on someone who leaves _me_ ,” she told him. She crafted this story after Eliot had quit Moreau’s crew. As far as Moreau knew, he’d left her and she was angry and resentful about it. The truth was that he’d offered to take her with him, but there was no escaping Moreau for her. She was stuck with him until she could find a way to take him down. For good.


	3. Chapter Two: Turnabout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Events take a turn for the dramatic, as they tend to do once the Leverage team gets involved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry this is so late! I thought after I quit my second job I'd have all this time, turns out when people find out you have weekends free they volunteer you to do a lot of things! I've been swamped. I had to skip posting more of "And the Phantom Village" last week because i just didn't have time to finish it. But I should have the chapter finished to post on Sunday (I hope, apparently my grandmother is moving in with us on Sunday so we'll see how that goes but I'm hoping to get it finished on Saturday so all I have to do is post it). 
> 
> Also, this chapter is where things get a bit redundant and we get into The Big Bang Job territory. I did change the episode just a bit (a tiny bit) to accommodate an additional person but I did NOT detract from any other character's plot to do this. So it won't be vastly different. And, no, I do not intend to squeeze Claire into every episode from here on out. She will have her own separate plot.  
> Anyway. Happy reading!
> 
> Enjoy!

 

The next morning Chapman came to get her. Moreau had stayed in his own room last night, which was odd, and the party yesterday had ended abruptly. Chapman had disappeared for nearly an hour and then suddenly Moreau was declaring the party a success and sending everyone home. Now Chapman was standing at her door and telling her to change clothes because Moreau needed to see her immediately. This did not sound good. So, she put on his favorite dress. It was a red curve hugging dress with a scoop neck and thin black belt across the natural waistline. She fluffed her red waves and checked her make up before she opened the door and followed Chapman to the elevator.

She arrived at the pool to find The Italian bound and gagged to a chair. She swallowed her panic and tried to remain calm.

“What in the world,” she said as she stopped to stare at the beaten and barely conscious woman. “Why is one of the new girls tied to a chair?”

“Hm?” Moreau asked casually. “Oh, turns out, she’s a spy. Italian, I think. That’s why you’re here. Have you seen her before?”

“Well, just yesterday. She was at the party, but other than that no. I’ve never seen her,” she lied. “Why? Was she following us or something?”

“She’s the one that led Spencer and his friend to us,” Damien told her. “I should have him killed yesterday. I knew I should have. I’ll have to correct that mistake right now, won’t I? Take them to the address,” Damien commanded as he waved a hand at both The Italian and Claire.

Chapman restrained Claire and jerked her arms behind her back. Shit, she’d been found out. Maybe she could salvage it. She played shocked and confused. “Damien, darlin’, what the hell are you—“

“I loved you, Claire. For seven years I loved you,” he said calmly as he stepped into her space and then played with a strand of her long hair. “I provided for you, I cared for you, and you repay me by providing information to _her_. I should have seen it before now. Chapman told me he suspected you were up to something but I refused to believe it. Even after yesterday when you showed a minor weakness at the sight of Spencer, I never thought it possible. And then Chapman found this in your room.” He threw the burner phone down on the table beside her. “They’re full of communications between the two of you. And then _she_ had this napkin in her possession.” He waved the cloth napkin in front of her.  “I believe that is your hand writing, isn’t it?” He paced in front of her as he continued. “Well, my dear, you’ve unfortunately made yourself a liability now. And as much as I love you I cannot have any liabilities. So, I suppose I’ll have to do away with you.”

He grabbed her chin and forced her to look up at him. How had she been so careless and so stupid? She’d blown her cover that she’d painstakingly built in several years, in one day. He slapped her hard across the face and she bit back a pained cry. She would not let him see her pain. She’d kept it from him for this long; she could do it a little while longer.

And that’s when it hit her. Literally, in this case. She was _free_. He knew what she was now. Her cover was blown and she had no reason to keep quiet any longer.

She looked up from the slap he’d given her and smiled. She chuckled before she spoke. “You fuckin’ bastard. Did you honestly think I would love you in return? You’ve abused me, imprisoned me, and fuckin’ black mailed me with Eliot’s life when I tried to leave. You honestly thought I stayed for you? Yeah, you’re right. You should have seen this coming. Jesus Christ, you hired me to grift for you when I was 19! Did you never think I might use those talents against you? _It’s what I do_ , Moreau, and I do it damn well.”

He nodded to the men holding her and one of them twisted her arm further. She gritted her teeth and glared. Moreau had dislocated her shoulder before and broken her wrist, her nose, and her ribs. She’d been through worse than this.

“You really are beautiful,” he told her as he ran a hand down the length of her bare arm. He stared at her fair skin the freckles on her arm for a moment before he moved his hand to the back of her neck. He yanked her mouth to his and forced an intrusive kiss on her. She bit his tongue, hard. She tasted blood as he jerked away form her. He immediately punched her across the cheek.

That’s when everything went black.

* * *

 

She woke up in a warehouse, and her stomach dropped. He didn’t kill her. Why didn’t he kill her? She heard someone struggling to her right and looked to see the Italian, still gagged and bound to a chair, but she looked a lot bloodier than she had before. They’d given her a beating on the way over. Claire couldn’t help but notice that she wasn’t bound or gagged. Her vision was tinged in darkness and she winced as she realized her right eye was swollen shut and there was a large gash on her cheek. 

“Perfect,” she muttered. Her shoulders were sore, but not dislocated or broken, and she could taste a disgusting mix of Moreau’s blood and her own in her mouth. She sat up slowly and then made her way to the Italian. She pulled the gag out of her mouth and started to untie her hands. “Where are they? I know they didn’t just leave us here.”

“We’re the cheese in the mousetrap,” The Italian said with a sigh. “My reinforcements are coming.” The Italian motioned to Claire’s eye and then smirked at her. “You know you’re a bit insane, right? The way you went off on Moreau—“

“He’s gonna kill me either way. The least I can do is give him a piece of my mind before he does.”

“You _bit_ him, and not in a fun kinky way.”

“He doesn’t like biting, not even in a fun kinky way,” Claire said with a shrug. “I knew it would piss him off. Can you stand? You leg looks awful busted up.”

“I’m fine,” she said as she stood from the chair and glanced around. “We need a way out.”

“If I know Moreau, and I do, there is no way out. He’ll have at least ten men hidden in this warehouse waiting for us to try and leave,” Claire said as she too tried to get a feel for the large space.

Suddenly, they could hear voices and Eliot and a shaggy haired man rounded the corner.

“What the hell, Claire,” Eliot said angrily as he made a beeline for her and placed a hand under chin to inspect her eye.

“It’s fine, just swollen. A lot,” she said with a wince. “You gotta get out of here. This is a big fuckin’ trap.”

Eliot nodded but kept his gaze on her black eye. “We were starting to notice that. What are you doing here?”

“I blew my cover like an amateur,” she said with a sigh. “What are you doing here?”

“We were trying to con Moreau, but it seems he figured it out,” Eliot told her.  “When you say you blew your cover, you mean you were working with her?” He asked as he gestured to the Italian who was having a conversation with his friend.

“I’ve tipped her off to his business dealings for the last five years,” she answered. “If I was going to be stuck with him then I was going to make it mean something.”

The look Eliot gave her was questioning and concerned. He looked like he wanted her to elaborate but there was shuffling to the right of them and the clicking of a lock. They’d closed off the easy exits. He looked to the shaggy haired man and then glanced around the room. “Nate, we gotta go.”

Eliot’s hand encircled her wrist and he pulled her forward with him. His friend, Nate, helped the Italian walk. Claire had been right. Her leg was busted up.

“You guys are working with The Italian too?” Claire asked in a whisper.

“We were. She blackmailed Nate into it,” he answered. A phone rang and they all looked over to see a burner phone in the Italian’s hand. “I got it,” Eliot said with a growl as he grabbed the phone and answered it. “Moreau.” She didn’t know what Moreau was saying but Eliot looked enraged. His grip on her wrist tightened slightly and then he said, “Well, then I’ll see you soon.” There was another moment before Eliot hung up the phone abruptly.

“Eliot,” his friend, Nate, asked. “Are we in trouble?”

“Oh yeah,” Eliot answered. “Come on.” Eliot led the four of them through the maze of containers and shelves. It was dark and hard to see, but Eliot didn’t hesitate when some one appeared in front of them with their gun drawn. The man was on the ground before the rest of them had really registered his presence. Eliot looked around the corner and they all heard the unmistakable sound of multiple guns cocking.

“So,” Claire asked in a sarcastic whisper. “Who wants to go first?”

Eliot rolled his eyes at her and then returned to analyzing their possible escape routes.

Nate motioned to the door across from them. “So, we just have to get to that door.”

“That’s a kill box,” Eliot told him. “There’s too much space between here and there.”

The look in his eyes changed and Claire bit back a sigh. She knew that look. That look meant he was about to do something incredibly violent and possibly self-sacrificing. The man took the possibility of being shot far too lightly for her taste. He always had. Eliot looked past her and Nate to the Italian.

“Are you sure you can actually take down Moreau?” He asked.

The Italian considered him for a moment before she responded. “Absolutely.”

Eliot’s gaze landed on the gun the man he’d taken out had dropped and he picked it up.

“Eliot, Listen—“ Nate started to say.

“Get them out of here,” Eliot told him. The next moment Nate was dragging both Claire and the Italian along while Eliot gave them cover fire.

“You better make it out alive,” Claire muttered to Eliot as she sprinted passed him. He didn’t acknowledge her and she didn’t expect him to. But she knew he’d heard her. They left the sounds of gunfire behind and ran toward the airport hangar. Barely even steps outside of the warehouse someone grabbed Claire from behind. Nate and the Italian didn’t look back, so they didn’t notice. She was glad for that. There wasn’t anything they could have done anyway.

She stomped down on her assailant’s instep and was thrown forward. She spun and glared. “Chapman.”

“Looks like I’ve been assigned to you again,” He said with a smirk.  He stepped toward her and she stood her ground. She wasn’t running from this. He leaned his face toward hers until he was centimeters away. “I’m going to enjoy this.”

She rolled her eyes and sighed tiredly. “You enjoy every kill. I’m not surprised.” Without a moment’s hesitation she head butted him the way Eliot had taught her years ago. It hurt like a bitch but the surprised yelp Chapman gave as he fell backwards was music to her ears. She was, by no means, a hitter, but she’d learned a few things from Eliot back in the day. Chapman stood and aimed his gun but before he could fire she punched him the solar plexus like she’d always wanted to do. He hunched over and glared at her as he tried to catch his breath. There was an explosion from the warehouse and Claire immediately looked up at it. _Eliot._ Chapman took advantage of her weak moment and tackled her to the ground. Her skin scraped against the pavement as she struggled against him. She knew what his next move would be and she tried to block his access to her throat, but it was no use. He wrapped a hand around her throat and began to squeeze.

She struggled to breath and her vision darkened. There were black spots and things started to blur. She kicked and thrashed underneath him but Chapman never faltered. The next moment though she could breathe again. She wasn’t sure what had happened exactly but Chapman was on the ground next to her and his hands were no longer on her throat. She coughed and sputtered as she was yanked up off the ground. She recognized the feeling of Eliot’s hand around her wrist and launched herself at him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and he wrapped one arm around her waist.

“It’s alright, darlin’. I got you,” Eliot told her softly.

 _I was more concerned about who had you_ , she thought to herself as she focused on her breathing. Chapman stood and aimed his gun at Eliot. Eliot held her in one arm and his free hand held a gun. He cocked the gun and pointed it back at Chapman.

Chapman took in Eliot’s ragged appearance and the warehouse that was currently caught in a huge blazing fire and smirked at him. “You said you didn’t like guns.”

“I don’t,” he said darkly before he fired off four quick rounds. Chapman slumped to the ground and Eliot emptied the clip from his gun and then dropped it on the pavement. “Never said I couldn’t use ‘em.”

He turned to inspect her for injuries and she focused her gaze on him. He’d gone inward and gone dark and gone angry. His eyes burned and he brought a surprisingly gentle touch up to her swollen eye. He ran a thumb across the large gash on her cheek and then took her hand in his. He sprinted in the direction Nate and The Italian had gone and pulled her along with him. His momentary pause to look at her eye seemed to spur him into action. He let go of her hand, just outside the hangar, and shouted over his shoulder at her.

“Stay there.”

She nodded and did as he asked until she heard a gunshot. And then nothing could stop her from running after him. When she burst through the door Moreau’s plane was taking off and The Italian was writhing on the ground with Nate standing over her while Eliot glared at the plane.

“Eliot! Eliot!” Nate yelled.

Eliot turned and headed toward the Italian. He removed his jacket and wrapped it around her. The Italian was the one he’d been shot. Eliot used his jacket to try and stop the bleeding while Nate kept her conscious as they waited for the paramedics. Moreau was gone. They hadn’t taken him down. They’d just barely escaped. And no one escaped Moreau for long. He could still kill them from San Lorenzo, which just had to be where he was headed. No one could touch him there.

The paramedics arrived and Eliot and Nate let them take over with the Italian. They both made their way to her.

“I don’t think we’ve been introduced,” Nate said as he held a hand out to her. “Nathan Ford.”

She looked between Nate and Eliot hesitantly. Eliot nodded to indicate it was okay before she shook his hand in return. “Claire Lanier.”

“You worked for Moreau?” Nate asked.

She nodded. “That’s the way it started out at least. I helped grease the wheels for his business deals.”

Nate smirked at her and nodded. “Charm and disarm. Good strategy. So, you’re a grifter then?”

“A damn good one,” Eliot said with a tiny grin.

Claire scoffed. “If I were really that good I wouldn’t have blown my cover. But, hey, could be worse. I survived, didn’t I? I honestly thought when this day came I’d already be dead, so there’s that.”

There was a look exchanged between Nate and Eliot before Nate excused himself and headed back to the ambulance where The Italian was being treated.

“You said something earlier—“

“Eliot, I don’t know that now is really the—“

“No, listen,” Eliot said with a huff. “I’ve been walking around all these years wondering what the hell happened to you and why you didn’t leave with me, but I never once thought you’d stay with him. I thought you’d find your way out, but you didn’t and I want to know why.” He gave her a stern look and she sighed.

“Where was I going to go that he wouldn’t find me?” She asked him. “He found out that we were planning to leave and gave me a choice: he could take your life or my freedom. Either way he was going to take something from me.”

Eliot shook his head. “I could have looked after myself, you know. You didn’t have to do that.”

“Maybe you could’ve the first few attempts, but eventually he would have gotten to you,” she told him. “You know him. He doesn’t stop until he wins. So, yes, Eliot, I did have to do that. But if I was going to have to pretend to love him then I was going to make something good come of it. So, when she offered me the informant gig I took it. My only way out was to take down Moreau.”

“I would have come back for you if I’d known,” he told her. She knew it was the truth as much as he did.

“Which is exactly why you never found out,” she told him.

He shook his head at her and growled. “Crazy woman, I should have thrown you over my shoulder and made you leave. I shouldn’t have given you a choice.”

She smiled at him. “But then you’d be no better than Moreau. You’re a lot of things, Eliot, but you’re not like him. You never could be.”

He gave her a small sad smile and her mind flashed back to the first time she saw him. He’d worn that same smile as she introduced herself. Like he knew what she was getting herself into even if she hadn’t.

“You’re different,” Eliot said after a moment.

She nodded. “So are you.”

A tense silence built up between them as the years they’d been apart floated to the surface. He’d gotten a little warmer and she’d gotten a little colder, and neither were the people they were when they’d met. But then…maybe that was better.


	4. Chapter Three: Leverage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire meets the team.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again we're still in the episode at this point but after this chapter there will be a more original scenes that won't be so redundant. I promise. I'm still in the chapters I've already written, which is good because I have had zero time to write lately. For those of you reading "And the Possibilities" I apologize for going two weeks without writing Act Three. I have had no time to sit and write it out. Hopefully things should be calming down by the end of this coming week.   
> Happy reading!

“Did I or did I not see you head-butt Chapman before?” He asked with a furrowed brow as he broke the tension that had formed between them.

She laughed genuinely and grinned at him. “You saw that?”

“I was trying to make my way to you but I was so far away I couldn’t be sure. You head-butted him? Really?” He asked with a proud grin.

She chuckled and nodded. “You taught me how. It had to come in handy sometime. Hurt like a bitch, though.”

“Did Chapman cry?” Eliot asked with a grin.

She smirked back at him. “Sort of. It was more like a strangled yelp. Still a beautiful sound though.” Eliot had a moment where he looked down at the ground with a guilty expression. He’d definitely softened some in the years they’d been apart. The Eliot she knew before didn’t let his guilt over his past jobs show. He felt it, sure, but he never let anyone see it. She placed a hand on his arm and caught his eye. “Hey, the bastard had it comin’. You know he did.”

He covered her hand with his and nodded. “I know.” His eyes fell on her black eye again and he sighed. “We need to get you something for that and let the paramedics take a look at that gash.” He led her toward the ambulance and motioned to the bruise on her arm as he did so. “I saw that the other day. What is that?”

“Chapman’s way of trying to put me in my place,” She said with a shrug. “It didn’t work.”

She could tell the casual way she shrugged off black eyes and bruises was bothering him. But what could she say? You deal with the hand you’re given and when you live with violence for seven years, well, it just sort of _is_. Yes it’s terrible and yes it hurts, but it’s unavoidable. So you either get used to it or let it break you.

She decided to get used to it. She was also certain that once she realized she was actually free of Moreau she was going to be in for an emotional awakening. Everything she’d neglected letting herself feel the last seven years would make it’s way to the surface. To be honest, that terrified her more than Moreau himself. The paramedics bandaged the gash on her cheek and gave her icepack for her eye. They asked if she felt she needed to go to the hospital and checked her for signs of a concussion. When they couldn’t find any she politely told them she would pass on the hospital. She hated hospitals.

She made her way back to Eliot and Nate as three other people joined them. She recognized one as the Frenchman Moreau had thrown in the pool.

“What is she doing here?” the man asked as he pointed to her.

“She was working for The Italian, man. She’s one of us,” Eliot sneered

“But you’re arm candy,” he told her.

She rolled her eyes at him. “And you’re French accent is terrible. Very cliché.”

Spencer grinned at her and the dark haired woman smacked Hardison’s arm.

“You went French? I’ve told you, your French accent is your weakest one.”

“Hey!” the man said as he dodged a second smack. “It was the first thing that came to mind! Geez. I survived, didn’t I?”

“Thanks to Eliot,” Claire said with a chuckle. “If it weren’t for him there is no way Moreau would have let you walk out of there.”

The dark haired woman quirked a brow at her and held a hand out to her. “Sophie Devereaux.”

Claire’s eyes widened and she quickly shook her hand. “ _The_ Sophie?”

“You’ve heard of me?” Sophie asked with a grin.

“Just barely,” Claire told her. “And considering the legendary jobs I’ve heard you pulled off that probably means you’re the best in the business.”

Sophie chuckled at her. “I don’t know about the best—“

“No,” Nate interrupted her. “She’s right, you’re the best.”

“And who’s the guy who’s bad at accents?” Claire asked as she looked at the man standing next to Sophie.

“Hardison,” he grumbled. “Hacker.”

“Ah,” she said with a nod. “That makes sense.”

“Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?” Hardison said with a glare.

“Is he always this much fun to mess with?” Claire asked Eliot with a smirk.

“Yes,” Eliot agreed before he motioned to the blonde. “And this is Parker.”

“Wait, _Parker_?” Claire asked as she turned to the blonde. “We met once! At the Louvre in 2003. I almost took the fall for that one. If it wasn’t for the fact that the insurance company had never heard of me I wouldn’t have gotten away.” She smirked at her and shook her hand. “You’re not hanging upside down like a bat so I didn’t recognize you.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Parker said with a grin. “I remember you! You don’t do art.” Parker did an impression of Claire’s accent and Claire chuckled at her.

“That’s right. I would have no idea what to do with it. I prefer money.”

“Can’t say I disagree with you,” Parker told her.

“What were you doing at the Louvre?” Eliot asked her.

“What? I like culture,” she said with a playful glare. “And my date was about to pay out for a serious collection of lost art, that I didn’t actually have. It was part of the con.”

“You would have just barely been 19,” Eliot said with a grin. “Who would believe you had a collection of lost art?”

“If I couldn’t make them believe it, Eliot, then I wouldn’t be much of a grifter, would I?” Claire asked him with a smirk as she put the ice pack back on her eye. “But, thanks to Parker, the deal fell through. You owe me millions of dollars,” Claire said as she pointed an accusing finger at Parker.

Parker smirked and shrugged but said nothing.

The group of them walked over to the ambulance where the Italian had been bandaged up and was lying on a gurney. She and Nate spoke in Italian, which thankfully, Claire spoke. They’re exchange translated to her thanking him for saving her life and him dismissing it by saying she would have done the same for him.

“No,” The Italian told him truthfully.

Nate tilted his head at her. “Well, then I’m glad he didn’t shoot me.”

“You’re a free man, now,” she told him.

Nate disagreed with her. “The job’s not done.”

Claire gave Nate an impressed look. Was he crazy or eccentrically brilliant? What else did he think he could do to Moreau?

“The job is dead,” The Italian told him.

Claire nodded in agreement. “She’s right. Moreau’s gone to San Lorenzo. This is over.”

“It’s a tiny little island country with no extradition treaty,” Hardison told them. “With anyone.”

“You couldn’t touch him in your own country,” The Italian said. “How can you touch him in his?”

Nate turned and walked off and Eliot motioned for Claire to come with them. She nodded at the Italian and said goodbye before she followed the group.

“What now?” Sophie asked.

“Now we go get him,” Nate told them.

“To San Lorenzo?” Eliot asked doubtfully.

“To San Lorenzo,” Nate answered.

“Nate,” Sophie said worriedly. “What are we going to do when we get there?”

“Finish the job,” Nate told her vaguely.

But how? Claire asked herself. It seemed like an impossible task to her. She caught up with Eliot and leaned toward him to whisper. “Is this what you do now? Take down bad guys?”

Eliot nodded. “Do you have anything you need at the hotel?”

“Well, yeah, but that place is bound to be crawling with cops and FBI by now,” she told him.

He shrugged. “It’s nothing Parker can’t get through. Right, Parker?”

Parker nodded. “Easy peasy, and besides I owe you, right?”

She sighed and nodded. “Okay, then. Room 514, just the duffel inside my closet. I don’t need anything else.”

“On it,” Parker said as she grabbed Hardison and ran off toward Sophie’s rental car. “We’ll meet you at the airport.”

Hardison tossed them an envelope. “Airplane tickets are in there. I still need to get one for Arm Candy, but I can work that out while Parker’s getting her stuff.” He gave Eliot a questioning look. “I’m assuming she’s coming to Boston with us?”

“You assume correctly,” Eliot told him. “Hope you don’t mind,” he told her. “But you’re staying at my place until we take care of Moreau. He may be on his way to San Lorenzo but that doesn’t mean he’s given up and I’d feel better if I could—“

“Keep an eye on me,” Claire finished for him. “I get it. It’s fine.”

To be honest, she was relieved. Eliot was the only person she really trusted at all now.

“So,” Sophie asked as they got into the car Nate and Eliot had driven over to the warehouse. “What’s your story? You don’t have to share anything you don’t want to. I’m just curious how you ended up with Moreau.”

 _And how you know Eliot_ was implied in her expression. Once the car had started and was on the road she contemplated how to answer.

“Damien caught me trying to pull a con on one of his business partners. Typically, he would have just killed someone like me, but I guess…well I guess he liked me. So, he hired me to work for him. Eventually, his liking me became an obsession I suppose. He turned dangerous. Eliot tried to get me out once, but when a man like Moreau sets his mind on something…there’s really no where to run, you know?” She told her. She left out all the details, like the abuse and her relationship with Eliot. She figured someone like Sophie had a talent for reading in between the lines anyway.

“I do know, actually,” Sophie said with a sympathetic smile. “So, have you pulled any jobs I may have heard of?”

Claire smirked wryly. “No. I stuck to small time stuff. Just enough to get by. That failed Louvre job was the biggest thing I ever attempted on my own. Honestly, I mostly grifted to survive and try to find my way back here, to the states.”

“How did you end up in Europe in the first place?” Nate asked. “You clearly started young.”

These people seemed nice and Eliot trusted them, but that still wasn’t enough for her to tell them everything. “Family obligation,” she said vaguely. “What about this?” she asked as she motioned to the three other people in the car. “How did this happen? In fact, what exactly is _this_?”

Eliot grinned and handed her a card out of his back pocket. “Leverage Consulting.”

Claire laughed. “So that’s what she meant. The Italian said she’d brought in reinforcements and when I asked what kind she simply said: Leverage. She meant all of you.”

“We teamed up on a job for a client years ago,” Nate told her. “It was supposed to be a one off, but it…escalated. Now we work for the good guys. The people who need it.”

“We’re a team,” Sophie told her with a smile. “A _very_ good one.”

Claire looked at Eliot and chuckled. “Things really have changed. Eliot Spencer working on a team. I never thought I’d see the day.”

“Yeah, well, it has its advantages,” he told her. 

She smiled warmly at him before she spoke again. “Teamwork looks good on you, Spencer. It’s a nice change.”

His blue eyes met hers and he nodded with a small smile. “Thanks.”

And with that a comfortable silence fell over the car. Each one caught up in their own thoughts and reflections. Claire was wondering how Nate thought his team was going to get to Moreau in San Lorenzo and praying that whatever they did…they made it out alive. Eliot cared about these people, she could tell, and it was rare for him to let that show. To let people know that he was attached to things was dangerous in his line of work. He’d told her so once up on a time. For him to stay with them and work with them it meant they meant a hell of lot to him. For his sake, she needed these people to stay safe.

* * *

 

They waited at the airport for fifteen minutes, tops, before Parker and Hardison arrived. Parker threw her the simple black duffle and Claire beamed at her.

“Damn, you’re good,” she told the thief.

Parker smirked and nodded. “I know.”

“Hope you don’t mind,” Hardison said as he handed her one of her wallets that had previously been inside the bag. “I used one of your IDs to book the ticket. Do you know you have about 10 different IDs in there?”

“Yeah, well, you never know when you’ll need to make a break for the nearest border without your real name raising any flags, do you?” she asked him pointedly. “Which one did you use?”

“Catherine White,” he told her. “It matched the alias Parker is using for this trip so I thought that would be best.”

Parker’s eyebrows shot up and she looked at Hardison eagerly. “Oh, I’m Alice today?”

“Yes, and she’s your sister,” Hardison said as he pointed to Claire.

“Cool! I love Alice! People like her who don’t like me.”

Eliot sighed. “Parker, you _are_ Alice.”

Claire had to check in at the ticket counter since Hardison hadn’t been able to print out her ticket. Once that was done the group made their way through airport security and then to the plane. Claire ended up sitting next to Parker for the plane ride.

“So, _sis_ , hope you don’t mind, but I raided your jewelry before we left,” Parker told her.

Claire laughed softly and shrugged. “Sure, why not? It wasn’t mine anyway. It was Damien’s.”

“He sure bought you a lot of diamonds,” Parker said she glanced down at the diamond pendant around her own neck.

“Men do that when they think they can buy a woman’s love,” Claire told her. “If a man ever gives you expensive jewelry for absolutely no reason, I suggest you run. It’s the first sign that things are about to go bad.”

“Noted,” Parker said with a nod.


	5. Chapter Four: Sacrifices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliot takes Claire home with him to Boston.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a lot of fun with this chapter in particular. There were a few scenes that are my favorites that I've written for this story so far in this chapter. :) So I hope you like it! Enjoy!

 

The plane landed at Logan International Airport an hour and a half later and from there the team split up to their individual homes. Eliot had a very nondescript apartment in a highly populated part of town. She’d never been to Boston before but it reminded her of Oslo, and she’d loved Oslo. That was before Moreau had started keeping her locked up in their hotels so she’d actually gotten to explore while they stayed there. It was beautiful.

If Boston was anything like that then she had a feeling she’d love it too. Eliot let her into his apartment and then shut and locked the door behind them.

“The guest bedroom is in the corner over there,” he told her as he pointed to the closed door in the far corner. He then placed a key in her hand. “And that is your key. I have a feeling the team’s gonna be headed to San Lorenzo pretty soon so you’ll need that. I’ve already arranged to have a friend of mine check in on you in the event that I have to leave sooner rather than later.”

He took her duffel bag from her and set it on his couch before he continued rattling off instructions. “There’s a grocery store the next block over. I’ve stashed emergency cash in the floorboard under the coffee table; you can use that for expenses. I wouldn’t travel too far away from the apartment until you get confirmation from me that we’ve put away Moreau. You gotta stay put until then; we don’t know what he’ll do when he finds out you’re still alive. If you do need to go somewhere let me know so I can have someone trustworthy tail you, okay?”

She blinked at him and tried to absorb all the information he threw at her and remember all of it for later. So, she’d escaped Moreau but somehow she was still trapped. Not only that but she was going to have someone watching her every move again. She was still a prisoner. She felt panic rising in her chest and were she still in Moreau’s crew she would have swallowed it back down and put on a brave face but for some reason she wasn’t able to that this time. At least not quickly. She rubbed a hand across her forehead and focused on her breathing to calm herself down. Were things ever going to change? What if they never stopped Moreau? What if Moreau killed them all and then came after her?

Eliot must have noticed the change in her demeanor because he was by her side immediately.  “Hey,” he said softly as he tried to get her attention. She didn’t look up at him but he continued anyway. “This isn’t forever. It’s just for now. I’m not gonna keep you trapped here, Claire. I’m not him.”

What? That wasn’t what she was worried about at all. How could he think that? This time she did look up at him. “I _know_ that, Eliot. I would never think that you would…I told you. You’re not like him. You never could be. It’s just…I’m…I’m away from him but it feels like he’s still here. I can feel him looming over everything. I keep thinking about all the what ifs and all the damage he’s waiting to do and it feels like nothing will ever change. I’m going to be looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life and there’s nothing anyone can do to…to—“

She felt tears in her eyes and tried desperately to stop them. She hadn’t cried in years and she wasn’t going to now. Not in front of Eliot. Not here, not now.

“Okay, okay,” Eliot said soothingly as he pulled her to him and sat them both down on his couch. “He’s not going to win this time. I promise.”

She rested her head on his shoulder and then wrapped her arms around his chest as he held her tighter. She let out a watery laugh and shook her head against his shoulder. “You can’t promise that.”

“No, I can’t,” he said honestly. “But I want to. I want to promise you that.”

“If I’d left with you back then, do you think we would have survived?” She asked him. “Do you think we would have been able to escape Moreau, really?”

“It’s hard to say,” he told her as he rubbed her arm comfortingly. “I’d like to say yes, but you were right earlier. He wouldn’t have stopped. We never would have had a moment of peace.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered as she felt tears wetting her cheeks.

“What are you sorry for, darlin’? You didn’t do anything wrong,” Eliot assured her. “You were trying to protect me and there ain’t nothing wrong with that.”

“I’m sorry that being involved with me pulled you into that mess to begin with. If it weren’t for me then Moreau never would have given you that job—he was playing with you because he knew I liked you. _That_ was my fault. I should have known better than to—“

“No, don’t you apologize for that,” Eliot told her in a stern tone. “Don’t apologize for how you felt, then or _now._ That was all him. Besides, he knew I liked you as much as you liked me. Neither of us was very discrete. He was the one who took advantage of that. You didn’t do anything wrong. I’ve never blamed you for anything so you shouldn’t blame yourself.”

She nodded against his shoulder and then closed her eyes. It was difficult not to blame herself to be honest. She replayed the situation over and over again in her head and each time she could pin it to her actions that gave them away to Moreau. Not Eliot’s.

“How’s your eye?” Eliot asked as he placed a hand under her chin and lifted her face so that he could see her.

“The swelling’s gone down a bit,” she told him. “I can see out of it.”

His eyes narrowed on her face and then he picked up her left wrist and examined it as well. She had no idea what he was doing but he seemed determined. He placed a hand on the back of her shoulder and pressed lightly. She hissed and nudged him away.

“Ow! What the hell, Spencer?”

“When did that happen?” He asked.

“I don’t know, during the struggle with Chapman. Or yesterday at the hotel. It’s hard to say really. It’s just a bruise. No big deal.”

“And your nose, when did you break your nose?”

She brought a hand to her nose and gave him a strange look. “Years ago. How the hell did you know that I—“

“There’s a bump on the bridge of your nose that wasn’t there the last time I saw you,” he explained. “And your left wrist isn’t aligned straight, and neither are most of your fingers on that hand. Your wrist and your hand were broken at some point too. Jesus, Claire, what the hell did he do to you?”

“Does it matter?” She snapped. “It happened, it healed. It’s done. It’s not like we didn’t all know he’s a horrible man, Eliot.”

“Claire,” he said with a sigh. “Really, are you okay? I don’t mean, physically, either. You were with him for seven years. That’s longer than anyone else in his organization. From what I can see he put you through hell and no one would think any less of you if you weren’t okay. You know that right?”

“I’m fine,” she grumbled as she looked away from him. “Can we drop it, please?”

“You’re not fine,” Eliot told her. “But if you don’t want to talk about it then I’m not going to make you.”

“Thank you,” she told him softly.

“I should have been there,” he said as he took her left hand in his and studied her wrist and her fingers again. “I should have gone back to make sure you’d gotten out.”

“Eliot, no,” she told him. “Don’t do that. If I’m not allowed to blame myself then you’re certainly not allowed to blame yourself either. None of what happened to me is on you. None of it. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me and I don’t want you thinking this is your fault. I chose to stay. It was my choice. Not yours.”

“And you just _let me_ think you’d ditched me,” He said with a teasing smirk. “I thought I was the self sacrificing one.”

She grinned slowly and chuckled at him. “I think that’s a title we can share, Spencer.”

“Yeah, you think so, huh?” Eliot asked as he used the hand he still held to pull her closer. He slowly pulled her into his lap and she gave him a challenging smirk.

“What do you think you’re doing?” She asked with a small suspicious smile.

“Well, I guess that’s up to you, sweetheart,” he said with a grin. He had one hand on the small of her back and the other was resting on her knee. It had been years since they’d been this close and the tension between them seemed to crackle and hum like electricity. She closed the distance between them and pressed her forehead to his. She brought one hand to his face and caressed his cheek.

“God, I’ve missed you,” she said before she leaned in and kissed him slowly. She noticed the difference in this kiss than any of her other recent ones. It was tender and gentle and full of care, and so so slow. Almost painfully so. God, she was loving it. It had been a very long time since she’d been kissed _like this_. Like someone actually wanted her to enjoy it too. Their lips and tongues tangled together and hands roamed. There was nothing else in this moment other than the two of them. It was everything she’d wanted for years.

His phone rang and Eliot growled against her mouth. She chuckled and pulled away from him.

“Should you get that?” She asked.

“Unfortunately, yes, I should,” He said through clenched teeth as he pulled the phone out of his pocket and answered. “Go.” There was a pause and then, “Dammit, Hardison. This couldn’t have waited until tomorrow?”

She bit her bottom lip to keep from laughing at Eliot’s frustrated expression.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll see you in ten. This better be worth my time, man,” he said just before he hung up. “Nate wants to see the team,” he told her. She nodded and lifted herself from his lap.

“Should I go with you?” She asked.

He nodded and smirked at her. “I’d like to keep you in my line of sight as long as I can.”

“Is that you being protective or hitting on me?” She asked as she grinned and quirked a brow at him.

“Both, actually,” he said with a wink. “You ready?”

She grabbed a clutch out of her duffel and glanced through it to make sure she had an ID and a bit of cash. She kept a small amount of it in each wallet, in case she ever had to grab one and run. She put the key Eliot had given her inside the clutch and then wrapped the strap of it around her wrist. “Ready.”

He locked up the apartment behind them and as they left his building he reached over and took her hand. She glanced over at him and smiled brightly. She swung their hands between them and then said, “So we’re doing this now are we?”

He shrugged and then pulled her into his side and put an arm around her shoulders. “Figured I’d enjoy it while I can. We never seem to be in the same place for very long, you and me.”

“No, I guess we don’t,” she said as she put arm around his waist. They walked two blocks before they reached a local bar. Eliot removed his arm from her shoulders and held the door open for her. She entered the bar and spotted Eliot’s team waiting on them. “So, you guys meet in a bar?” She asked him. “It’s kind of public, don’t you think?”

“That’s part of the advantage. We can meet clients here without raising suspicion,” he told her.

“Your eye looks better,” Parker told her as they approached the group.

“Yes, it does. Thank you. I can actually see out of both eyes again,” Claire said as she leaned against the bar between Parker and Hardison.

Sophie leaned toward her and whispered in her ear. “Dear, your lipstick is smudged.”

Claire immediately touched a hand to her lips and cleared her throat awkwardly. “There’s a ladies room in here, right?” She asked Sophie in return. Sophie nodded and pointed to the back of the bar. “Thanks.” She felt Eliot’s eyes following her all the way to the back of the bar. Just 24 hours ago she’d thought she never get away from Moreau and yet here she was with Eliot, in Boston, with Moreau hundreds of thousands of miles away. Sure, he still lingered in the air around her but for the moment, this was more than she could have hoped for. She fixed her lipstick in the bathroom mirror as well as the rest of her make up and when she made it back out to the bar Hardison was packing up his laptop and the team was headed to the door.

“Hey,” she said as she approached Eliot. “What’s going on?”

“We’re moving this upstairs,” he said as he led her out the door and to the second story of the building.

Hardison stopped and turned to face Claire and Eliot with his arms crossed once they were halfway up the stairs.

“ _She_ can’t come,” Hardison said as he pointed at Claire. There was a pause as they all waited for Hardison to continue. Finally, he huffed and then quirked a brow at them, as if they should all understand immediately, before elaborating. “You _never_ let Vicki Vale into the Batcave, bruh.”

Eliot glared at him. “She’s coming,” he said with a sneer.

He looked to Sophie or Nate for back up but neither contradicted Hardison’s declaration.

“Seriously?” Eliot nearly yelled. “She’s got Moreau after her, man.”

“We don’t know that,” Parker said plainly. “We know she _told us_ that. You told us that. But _we_ don’t know that.”

“She could be a spy for all we know,” Hardison said with a nod. “I mean she did grift for him, didn’t she? That’s what you said.”

Again, Eliot looked to Sophie or Nate for help. Nate looked thoughtful, with a hand on his chin, and Sophie had her critical gaze focused on Claire. But neither took a side.

“I’m not letting her into the Loft without more reason than ‘Eliot said so’,” Hardison said adamantly. “Clearly, she’s under your skin, Eliot. I’m not sure your judgment in this case is—“

“My _judgment_ is that she informed on the most dangerous man in the world and was nearly killed because of it. The Italian vouched for her,” Eliot argued through gritted teeth.

“Yeah and it’s not like The Italian gave us a reason not to trust her either,” Parker said in a tone that was so calm that it almost sounded indifferent.

“She was arm candy, man.  There’s nothing people underestimate more than arm candy,” Hardison warned the Hitter. “Nothing.”

Claire sighed tiredly and shook her head. “ _She_ is standing right here and can hear every word you say. _She_ also has a name. It’s _Claire_ , by the way. And _she_ does not have the patience for this.” She turned to Eliot and put a hand on his arm consolingly. “ _She_ will also be waiting downstairs in the bar. It’s fine.”

She turned with the intention of briskly walking away, but Eliot’s hand that wrapped around her bruised arm stopped her and forced a wounded hiss to escape her lips.

Eliot released her arm like _he’d_ been the one to hurt her and then spoke with the same sneer he’d used earlier. “Dammit, Hardison. She cannot wait in the bar. There are too many unknown factors down there and I have no visibility on her when she’s on a completely different floor. At this moment, I don’t give a shit whether or not you trust her. My only concern is making sure _she_ stays alive until we put away Moreau.” Eliot turned a determined look on Sophie and Nate. “You send her down to that bar without one of us and you risk her _life_. That’s not going to happen while I’m on this team.”

She didn’t blame them for not trusting her. Honestly, she wouldn’t trust her either. But Eliot seemed to take offense to the fact that they didn’t trust _him_ and his opinion regarding her. There was tense silence as Parker, Hardison, and Eliot all looked to Nate and Sophie for the final word.

“She could be useful,” Nate said finally. “She was inside Moreau’s organization for seven years. She might have information we need.”

“Broken nose, broken wrist, broken fingers. All healed,” Sophie announced. “Bruise on the upper arm. Black eye and a huge gash. She’s been using her non-dominant hand more than her right so I’m guessing there’s something bothering her right shoulder. I would say there’s a knot or a bruise there.” She turned to Parker and Hardison with a quirked brow. “Would you go back to someone who treated you that way?” They didn’t respond, but they didn’t have to. Claire glared at Sophie from where she stood next to Eliot. Was that really necessary? She wanted respect not pity. She did not want to be a victim. Was it worth it to be let in if they were all going to view her as damaged goods?

“Let her in, Hardison,” Nate told him as he gave Eliot an understanding nod.

“But Nate—“

“This is still my apartment, isn’t it?” Nate asked him pointedly. “She comes inside. Eliot trusts her. So should we. His instincts are good.”

Hardison grumbled but he did unlock the door and let them inside.

Her eyes widened as they entered the apartment. There was a wall of screens and a counter across from it, a living room area, and a kitchen and then stairs that must have led to a bedroom.

“Welcome to the office of Leverage Consulting,” Sophie told her with a sweeping arm over the view of the office.

“Which is technically still my apartment,” Nate told her pointedly. 

“Your apartment in the building that I own,” Hardison told him with a grin as he started setting up his laptop.

 


	6. Chapter Five: Secret's Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Vicki Vale makes it into the Bat-cave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my goodness, I am so sorry! I have had a hectic couple of months and have had no time to write! But I got a super sweet comment today and decided to post a pre-written completed chapter for you guys! Thanks so much for reading and commenting and enjoying this story! And I'm so glad you all seem to enjoy Claire!
> 
> Happy reading!  
> angellwings

_Chapter Five: Secret's Out_

* * *

 

 

Eliot retreated to the corner of the room and pulled out his phone. She wondered who he was calling. She stuck fairly close to him to avoid wary glances from Eliot’s teammates. Hardison spent a few more minutes working on something before he announced. “I’m ready for the run down on San Lorenzo whenever you guys are.”

Parker, Sophie, and Nate gathered around the counter and they all looked to Eliot. He waved them off.

“He doesn’t need the run down,” Claire told them. “We’re well informed on San Lorenzo.”

Hardison nodded awkwardly as if there was something he was dying to ask about but didn’t really want to know and then started the presentation. She drifted to the edge of the living room where Eliot was so she could overhear what his team was discussing. The loft wasn’t that big and they were not talking softly. Every now and then Hardison would give her a hesitant glance but he never stopped his briefing.

Why had Eliot decided to work with a team, anyway? They’d once agreed on teamwork. She felt teamwork let things get too complicated. There were too many people in your space and too many judgments that could be made. It interfered with the job and generally slowed things down. But Eliot didn’t seem to feel that way anymore. He seemed to genuinely like this crew, even if they didn’t always agree. She’d meant it when she’d said teamwork looked good on him, and he _was_ different. Still hard and angry yet surprisingly sweet when he wanted to be. But he was warmer somehow. These people had changed him and she wanted to know _how._ Why did Eliot suddenly decide to become part of a crew? What did they offer him that his solo jobs could not?

She listened to Hardison’s facts about San Lorenzo while she watched Eliot talk on the phone. He was smiling, which meant he wasn’t talking to a usual contact. But it had to have something to do with the job.

“I’m thinking the Spanish Turnabout,” Sophie said thoughtfully.

That brought Claire’s full attention back to Eliot’s teammates. Hell no, Moreau knows that one by heart. She used it frequently on his behalf. Besides—

Parker made a sound that indicated her disagreement and then said what Claire had been thinking. “No, he’s not gonna leave the country. The Turnabout pays off at an airport.”

“The Peking Watch Con,” Sophie said as she tried again.

 _Nice_.

“Nice!” Parker said eagerly.

Alright, so _maybe_ she saw what Eliot liked about these people.

“Guys, guys,” Nate said as he interrupted them. “This is Damien Moreau. Now, we got lucky the first time. We caught him on his blind side and he still almost killed us. Now, if he catches wind that we’re running a con or a heist that he’s seen before, we’re done. It’s gotta be something new.”

“There are no new cons, Nate,” Sophie said tiredly.

And any new con was sure to be super complicated and easy to figure out. That’s why there were only 7 basic cons with numerous variations. The basics always worked the best. Eliot joined them then and tossed his phone at Hardison.

“Put this up on the big screen,” he told him. “Remember I told you I had a friend in San Lorenzo? Make sure it’s encrypted, too, because he’s taking a big chance by talking to us.”

“Oh, so, like, do my job,” Hardison said dryly.

“Do your job.”

“That I’ve been doing for years.”

“Do your job.”

Claire grinned at their exchange and rolled her eyes. Bickering was one of Eliot’s first signs of affection. She was sure they’d figured that out by now though. A face appeared on the screen and Claire immediately brightened. The only friendly face she’d ever met in San Lorenzo.

“General Flores, could you please tell my team what you were saying earlier about Moreau?” Eliot asked.

“I’ve not been General for a long time, _Commander_ ,” Flores said with a friendly grin. “You understand, we’ve had open elections in San Lorenzo since our independence in 1969. Democracy is, uh, hard, but we were making progress until President Ribera.”

Claire scoffed loudly. Ribera, joke of a politician. Moreau was the real power behind the throne. Ribera only did as he was told.

“I know that scoff,” Flores said with a chuckle. “Where is she?”

Claire blushed and waved at the screen sheepishly. “Right here, General.”

“Glad to see you got away, my dear.”

“Um, thank you,” she said softly as she stared down at her hands in embarrassment. No one questioned what she "got away" from. That's twice tonight someone had made her appear to be a victim. She fisted her hands so tight her nails bit into the skin of her palms.

Flores then continued filling the room in on Ribera, his history with San Lorenzo, and how Moreau had bought himself the Presidency.

“Anyone who opposes him,” Flores said. “Is declared an enemy of the state. They are imprisoned, and by law, their assets are seized, their families bankrupted.”

“This is why the General’s in hiding. He’s your candidate running against Ribera,” Eliot told them.

“General, I understand you’re taking quite a risk for yourself and your family by talking to us. Uh, we – certainly owe you a debt,” Nate said as he came around the counter to stand with Eliot and Hardison.

“No, I’m the one with the debt. Spencer saved my life… _twice_ ,” The General told them.

“Once,” Eliot corrected him with a chuckle. “And a half.”

“How do you half save someone’s life?” Parker asked.

“Cause I was the one that was sent to kill him, so I figure that only counts as a half, right?” Eliot asked with a small smile.

“That actually makes sense,” Hardison agreed.

“General, I—“ Nate started to say, but he was interrupted by loud crashes in the background. Claire left her spot at the edge of the living room and immediately came around to stand behind Eliot at the sound of the crashing.

“What is it?” Eliot asked.

“I don’t know,” the General answered as he glanced around the room he was in.

“General is that a secure line?” Eliot asked in a raised voice as more crashing and breaking could be heard in the background. There was struggling and yelling and then suddenly General Flores was on the screen surrounded by Moreau’s men. Eliot’s muscles tensed and turned to Hardison and shouted, “I thought you said this thing was safe, man!”

“General!” Nate yelled.

“It _was_ , man. They just hacked it from the other side,” Hardison told him in a panicked voice. “It’s serious software like…”

“Manticore?” a new voice asked from the screen.

Claire gasped in surprise and instinctively grabbed Eliot’s arm at the sound of the voice. _Moreau_.

“Thank you for destroying Duberman last year. Bankrupted his company, put his old servers on the open market. Amazing what 10 million dollars and some clever tech support can do.”

“Moreau,” Nate stated as Parker and Sophie joined the rest of them in front of the screen.

“Hey, don’t blame yourselves for this,” he told them in a patronizing tone. “Ribera makes sure I stay safe so I make sure he stays President. Actually, to be fair, I wouldn’t have found Flores if you hadn’t contacted him, so, uh, go ahead and _do_ blame yourselves,” Moreau said with a laugh.

“You can’t just kill a war hero like Flores,” Eliot said with a glare.

“No, of course not,” Moreau agreed. “We’ve got U.N. Election inspectors here, world media. No, he’s just in prison until after the election. Then he’ll have a car accident. You know how these things are done…or, uh, you used to.” Moreau paused and looked over the group before he eyes landed on Claire and he smirked. “You would run to him, wouldn’t you, my dear? It’s always been him. You can’t keep her safe forever, Spencer, if how well you protected Flores is any indication. Sleep tight,” he said before he severed the connection and the screen filled with static.

Claire released Eliot’s arm and ran her hands through her hair as she tried to stay calm. Moreau knew she was alive. Moreau had just threatened her life. _Moreau_ had arrested the General and planned to kill him and potentially his entire family. Eliot walked toward the screens with an angry glare.

“Eliot,” Nate said suddenly. She couldn’t tell what was being communicated between them but it snapped Eliot back from where ever he’d been and he quickly walked out of the apartment.

Claire glanced around the room for a moment and felt several pairs of eyes on her, all with concern in them. Too much concern. Honestly, it came a little too close to pity for her comfort. It certainly seemed they all believed her story _now._ Nate started to dial a number on his cell phone as she turned and followed after Eliot. She couldn't stand to be in this room any longer.

She found him in the alley behind the bar smashing the hell out anything he could find. This wasn’t anything new to her so she leaned against the building and waited. He’d vent and get the most murderous feelings out, but he’d save the rest of the rage for the job. He always did. When the last thing in the alley that could be destroyed was in pieces on the ground he stopped and breathed heavily for a long moment before he turned to face her.

“What the hell was I thinkin’ calling Flores?” Eliot asked rhetorically. “I should have left it alone. I should’ve—“

“Shoulda woulda coulda ain’t ever accomplished anything, Eliot,” she told him softly. It was the one piece of wisdom her mother gave her that wasn't completely worthless. “Moreau would have found him eventually.”

“Yeah, but it didn’t have to be because of me,” Eliot sneered. “And then…I shouldn’t have brought you with me.”

She shook her head at him. “You couldn’t have known what would happen so don’t pretend like being a hitter makes you all knowing. It doesn’t. You blindsided Moreau and now it was his turn to blindside you. Shit happens, Eliot. You know what you have to do now and it doesn’t include sulking in an alley behind a bar.”

“He saw you, Claire. He knows where you are now,” he told her as if he thought she didn’t know.

She rolled her eyes at him. “Yes, I noticed. I was standing right there.”

“Why the hell do you sound so calm then?” He yelled.

“Because it’s either pretend to be calm or freak the hell out!” She yelled back. “And I don’t think my freaking out is going to help the situation any. Do you?”

Eliot approached her slowly until he stood inches apart from her. “He’s right. I can’t protect you forever.”

She nodded. “Of course he’s right.”

Eliot furrowed his brow at her. “Well, thanks for the vote of confidence.”

She smiled warmly at him. “That has nothing to do with your ability and you know that. At some point I have to take care of myself so, no, you can’t protect me forever. There will be things that I will have to face on my own.”

“Yeah okay, but this isn’t one of them. _He_ isn’t one of them,” Eliot told her as he pulled her away from the wall.

“I don’t know,” she said sadly. “I think eventually he might be. Not physically or confrontationally, but…I will have to face what he did to me and… _who_ I let him turn me into. And you can’t take that on for me or even with me, Eliot. You just _can’t._ ”

“I can keep him from hurting anyone else though,” Eliot said darkly.

She grinned at him and nodded. “Now _that_ you can certainly do.”

A throat cleared from the doorway and they both turned to find Sophie watching them.

“Nate’s on the phone with The Italian,” she told them. “He’s setting up our entry plan for San Lorenzo. We leave in the morning.”

Eliot nodded. “Time?”

Sophie smirked at him. “Should I give you military time, _Commander_?”

He gave her a bored look and didn’t bother to answer her. She rolled her eyes and then said, “We’re meeting at the airport at 0-500.”

“Five AM? Are you kidding me?” Eliot asked.

Sophie shrugged and grinned. “It’s a long flight. Have a good night, you two.”

“Good night, Sophie,” Claire told her stiffly as she turned and walked away. She still wasn’t thrilled about Sophie revealing her observations to the rest of the group, but as a grifter and part of a team she had to look out for them first. Claire could _almost_ understand that. She turned to Eliot with a soft smile and took his hand to lead him back through the bar. “Come on, we should go. Apparently, you have an early day tomorrow.”

Hardison stopped them on the way out. “Hey, Arm Candy, you coming with us?”

She chuckled sarcastically. If he didn’t trust her or want her around why would he ask her that? She fought rolling her eyes at him before she answered. “ _Hell no_. If I set one foot on San Lorenzo soil I’m an enemy of the state and arrested immediately. So, I’ll stay here, if you don’t mind. Besides, you guys seem like a well-oiled machine. I think it’s best I stay out of the way.” She paused and then glared at Hardison. “Is that gonna be a thing now? You calling me Arm Candy?”

Hardison gave her a smug grin and shrugged. “You answered to it.”

She blinked at him and then gave Eliot a confused glance. “Oh my God, I did, didn’t I?”

Eliot laughed at her and then nodded. “Afraid so, darlin’.”

She rolled her eyes at Hardison before she turned to Eliot. “Is this how you feel all the time when you talk to him? Like you just want to punch that smug look off of his face?”

Eliot looked thoughtful for a moment and then nodded with a smirk. “Pretty much, yeah.”

“Your restraint amazes me,” Claire muttered as she shoved passed Hardison and continued to lead Eliot out of the bar.

When they were out on the street and headed toward Eliot’s apartment he put an arm around her waist again and pulled her close to him. He cleared his throat and gave her an apologetic look. “How’s your arm?”

She glanced at the bruise and then back up at him. “It’s fine, really.”

“About earlier, I didn’t—I wasn’t thinking when I—“

“Stop,” she told him with a sigh. “You didn’t cause the bruise, Eliot. Don’t apologize. Honestly, it’s fine.”

“Still,” Eliot said as he gave her a meaningful look. “And, you know, my team is just—there’s a lot at stake if they trust the wrong people and it’s taken us a long time to even trust each other. It’s not easy, but—“

She smiled warmly at him and nodded. “But family never is. I get it. And I get why they didn’t trust me. I wouldn’t trust me either.”

He didn’t seem to know how to respond to that but he continued to hold her against his side as they walked. She felt his eyes on her every now and then but, as usual, his expression never gave way to what he was thinking. She was dying to ask but was afraid of what he would say. Did he doubt her too? She didn’t know if she could take it if Eliot doubted her loyalty. Not when she trusted him so completely.

They arrived back at Eliot’s apartment less than fifteen minutes later and Eliot headed into his bedroom before he came back out with a phone in his hand. He handed it to her before he spoke. “Burner phone. I keep a stash of them in case I need them. While we’re gone you can use this phone if you need us. And anyone who comes to check on you while I’m gone will call you on that phone before they come over. If they come over unexpectedly then something is wrong and you should get out as quickly as you can.”

“Why is it, every time we come here, you immediately launch into procedures and information?” She asked him with a huff as she put the phone in her clutch.

The look he gave her was heated and full of worry and want and before she had an inkling of what he was thinking his lips were on hers. His hands were on either side of her face and he was kissing her slowly again like he was picking up exactly where they left off. She dropped her clutch and reached her hands up to wrap them around his neck as he deepened the kiss and pulled her even closer. 

“Okay,” she asked as she managed to pull her lips from his. “So, we’re doing this _now_?”

He didn’t say anything in response instead he nuzzled her neck and then began to kiss his way up her neck to the corner of her jaw.

“ _Oh God_ ,” she said with a whine. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

He pressed his forehead to hers and smirked at her. “Sweetheart, you and me are gonna have a lot of fun tonight. Trust me.”

She had no doubt about that. She was already melting. It had been a long time since she’d really had anything _fun_. She fisted her hands in his shirt and pulled his lips down to hers again. This time while they were kissing his hands reached for the zipper of her dress. She smiled against his lips and removed her hands from his shirt to undo the thin belt at her waist and toss it aside.

She kissed him again as he finished unzipping the dress and then stepped back from him to slip her arms out and let the dress fall into a pile at her feet. She had a black eye, fresh scrapes and bruises, and scars from a few old ones and yet he still looked at her like he was ready to devour every inch of her. It was nearly the complete opposite of the possessive looks Moreau had given her, and it felt…freeing.

She bit her bottom lip and gave him an expectant look as she stood in front of him in a black lacy bra and matching thong. “Your turn.”

He grinned and took another moment to look her over. “Yes, ma’am.”

He peeled off his shirt and suddenly she was taken back to time when she wasn’t so inhibited and he was a familiar danger she couldn’t get enough of. They’d been a bit stupid and a lot younger, but _damn_ they’d had fun while it lasted. She stepped back into his space and undid his belt buckle for him and slowly slid the belt out of the loops of his pants and dropped it on the floor next to her dress. She glanced down at the button fly of his jeans and then back up at him.

“You gonna take those off yourself or do I have to do it for you?” She asked as she licked her lips and placed her hands on his bare chest.

He stayed silent but his grin grew a he reached down undid the button fly and then kicked off his jeans. This time it was her turn to step back and observe.

“Happy?” He asked.

She chuckled and nodded as her eyes drifted up his entire body. “Oh yes, the playing field has been sufficiently leveled.”

He laughed, placed his hands on either side of her face, and pulled her in for yet another tender open-mouthed kiss. They fell back on the couch and Claire straddled Eliot and let her hair fall around them in a red curtain as they kissed. Eliot had one hand on the small of her back and the other in her hair while she had her hands on his chest. His chest was hard and warm and oddly comforting. Eliot sat up, all the while never ceasing to kiss her, and pushed her back against the couch. She wrapped her legs around him and felt a thrill shoot up her spine as he growled into her mouth and pressed his body closer to hers. His hard body was pressed flush against her softer curvier one.

It was a special kind of heaven that felt a little bit like hell and she had missed it more than she knew. Eliot was right. They were going to have a _lot_ of fun tonight.


	7. Chapter Six: Deal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliot leaves for San Lorenzo and Claire meets someone interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another chapter for you guys! I have some wonderful readers for this story and I'm extremely grateful! I'm also glad Claire seems to be well received for the time being. I'm working very hard to write her truthfully and try to develop her like John Rogers and his wonderful writers room would. Hopefully, I'm pulling it off.
> 
> This is where we start to deviate from the episode a bit. I hope you guys continue to enjoy it!  
> Happy reading!  
> angellwings

 

Several hours later, Claire rolled over toward the alarm clock on Eliot’s nightstand. (Yes, they’d eventually moved to the bed but not before stopping a few other places first.) She had no idea what time it was. They’d gotten a bit…carried away.

“It’s 2 am,” she announced before she rolled back over and curled herself into Eliot’s side.

“I have to leave in two and a half hours,” he said with a soft chuckle.

“So much for a good night’s rest,” Claire said with a smirk as she placed a quick kiss on his jaw.

“Worth it,” he said in his signature gravelly tone as he softly caressed her bare back  “Definitely worth it. Besides, I should be able to get some sleep on the flight. Then again, we are flying commercial.”

She chuckled at him. “You sound like that’s complete torture for you. The flight from DC to Boston wasn’t so bad.”

“That was an hour and a half non-stop flight,” Eliot said with an amused smirk. “When was the last time you flew across the ocean on a commercial plane?”

She blinked at him and then closed one eye as she thought back through her travels. “Um, probably not since I was 14, I guess.”

“See, there you go,” Eliot told her pointedly. “You have no idea. Plus, I’m not exactly looking forward to trying to take on Moreau on his home turf. This job is gonna be an uphill climb, even for Nate.”

She took his free hand in hers and gave it a squeeze. He looked at her curiously.

“I know it’s your job,” she said as she took a deep nervous breath. “To get your team to San Lorenzo and back safely. I _know_ that, and I can see that you really care about these people. _But_ you will try to bring yourself back in one piece too, won’t you?”

He smiled softly at her. “I always try, darlin’,” he said before he kissed the top of her head. “But, I tell you what, I’ll try _harder_ if you’ll promise me somethin’?”

“Like what?” She asked curiously.

“That you’ll be here when I get back,” he said seriously.

She froze and gave him a startled look. Yes, okay, she’d thought about leaving as soon as Moreau was out of the picture, in the event that he actually _was_ out of the picture that is, but how the hell did he know that? “Eliot—“

“Don’t tell me you wouldn’t leave because I know you. It’s what you’re used to and now that you’re free of Moreau you got nothin’ holding you back.”

She sighed. “I can’t stay in Boston mooching off of you forever.”

“And I’m not suggesting you should. I told ya, I’m not gonna keep you here _forever_. I just…I want a little more time,” he said honestly. “That’s all.”

She met his eyes and really wished she hadn’t. They were boring into her like they could see straight through her. “Okay,” she agreed. “But I will be leaving Boston sooner rather than later.”

He nodded. “Give me two weeks.”

“Two weeks?” she asked curiously.

“We take two weeks between long cons,” he told her. “We lay low and let things blow over. It’s a rule. Two weeks. That’s all I’m asking.”

She bit her bottom lip and then nodded. “Okay, two weeks. I’ll stay two weeks after you get back, but then I’m gone. Okay? Deal?”

“Deal,” he agreed as he pulled her on top of him. He smirked when they were lying chest to chest. “Seal it with a kiss, sweetheart?”

She rolled her eyes and chuckled at him. “You’re ridiculous.” But she kissed him anyway.

She settled her head on his chest and he gently rubbed a hand up and down the length of her arm.

“Why exactly do you want to leave so badly?” He asked. “Boston that bad?”

She smiled softly and shook her head against his chest. “No, actually. Boston is turning out to be really wonderful.”

“Then why?” He asked.

She propped her chin on his chest and looked up at his face. “You know why. If you know me like you think you do then you already know why.”

He sighed and nodded reluctantly before he answered. “Independence.”

She smiled warmly at him. “See? You do know me. I was 19 when I started working for Moreau. I’d only been on my own a year prior to that. I had so much I wanted to do and I really just wanted to get back here. To the states. But I got myself trapped and the road back home took a lot longer than I anticipated. But now…now I have my chance. I can travel, meet new people, maybe make a name and a career for _myself_. I can’t pass that up. I gotta make up for all the time I wasted, you know? Surely, you can understand that.”

“Trust me,” Eliot said as he gave her a reassuring squeeze. “I do.”

 

* * *

 

Two hours later, Eliot’s alarm went off and though he told her not to Claire got up with him. He showered and got dressed. She, however, only had a couple of changes of clothes in her duffel bag so she borrowed one of his shirts. He sat her down at his breakfast bar and then started pulling ingredients out of his refrigerator.

“Before I leave, I’m making you breakfast,” he told her.

She clapped excitedly. “Is your cooking still as good as I remember?”

“Is my cooking still as good as—seriously? Did you just ask me that?” He asked as he gave her a glare.

She laughed and shrugged. “It’s been a long time, Eliot. Maybe you’ve lost your touch. How should I know?”

“Lost my—woman—you sit there and just watch, okay? I will show you—lost my touch. I can’t believe you just said that to me.”

She’d forgotten how much fun flustered Eliot was. She watched as he expertly made a gourmet level omelet and then made a pot of coffee with a French Press. As usual, if Eliot was going to do food, he was going to do it _right_. He watched her expectantly and motioned for her to take a bite. She bit back a grin and took a small bite of the omelet in front of her. She knew it would be good. She had no doubts, but she’d teased him and he was looking to prove her wrong so she exaggerated her reaction. The self-satisfied smile he threw her way was nothing short of sexy. If he didn’t have to leave in ten minutes she would have jumped him right then.

“Told you,” he said as he tilted his head at her. “Never doubt my cooking. Ever.”

She chuckled and saluted him. “Sir, yes, sir.”

He came to sit beside of her and she felt him watching her as they both ate.

“Eliot,” she said after a moment. “You have to leave in a few minutes, you cannot do whatever you’re thinking of doing.”

“Not my fault you look good in my shirt,” he told her with a grin. He was looking at her the way he looked at her last night, just before things got…intense.

“God, you’re evil. Stop looking at me like that,” she said as she felt her cheeks flush.

“You’ll be here when I get back right? Two weeks?” He asked again.

She nodded and stood up from her now empty plate. “I said I would be here and I will. You come back alive and I’ll give you two whole weeks. I promise.”

She passed him to take her plate to the sink but he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her toward him. He kissed her, slowly. This kiss was full of promises and expectations and it was almost too much for her to bear. He pressed his forehead to hers and nodded. “Then I’ll see you once Moreau’s out of the picture.”

She nodded against his forehead then pulled away reluctantly. “You’d better,” she told him.

He finished his breakfast and then jotted down four phone numbers on the note pad stuck to his refrigerator and pointed them out to her. “These are phone numbers you might need. The top one is mine, the second one is Hardison’s, and the last two belong to my friends who’ll be checking in on you. Anything happens or you see anyone suspicious you call one of these numbers, okay?”

She nodded. “Okay.”

“If you need to go any further than a block away from here, you call one of those numbers. If there’s any trouble at all then you—“

“Call one of those numbers,” she interrupted him. “I get it, Spencer.”

He glanced at the clock on his wall and then ran a hand through his hair. “I should really go.”

“Probably,” she agreed. “You wouldn’t want to keep the team waiting.”

“Really, though,” he told her. “Don’t call me unless there’s an emergency. The only reason we should have contact is if something urgent is happening. I don’t want Moreau doing to you what he did to Flores. We go radio silent unless it’s life or death.”

She nodded. She didn’t like the idea of that. How would she know if something happened to him? “You’ll call me when it’s done, though, right? To let me know you’re still alive?”

He nodded and they both walked to the door. She gave him a strange look as he opened the door.

“Where’s your luggage?”

“I don’t travel with luggage,” he told her just before he leaned in and kissed her again. Each kiss felt slower than the first. How was that possible? As he pulled away he pressed a kiss to her temple. “Stay safe.”

“Stay _whole_ ,” she told him. She knew safe was too much to ask.

“I’ll do my best,” he answered before he shut and locked the door between them. She stared at the door for a long moment. He was gone. He was on his way to face off against Moreau in a place that Moreau had bought to cover his tracks. Moreau knew San Lorenzo inside and out. It was dangerous and to do it right they would need to be there a while. A week, at least.

She wouldn’t know if Eliot was alive or dead for at least another week.

She needed something to do. She needed something to keep her busy. If not, she was going to go crazy with worry. She tried to go back to sleep, but after an hour of laying in Eliot’s bed staring up at the ceiling she gave up. She did the dishes from breakfast and took a moment to make herself familiar with the kitchen. Once that was done, she sat down on Eliot’s extremely comfortable leather couch and turned on the TV. She flipped through the channels; Eliot had a ton of them, until she found a world news channel reporting on San Lorenzo’s upcoming election.

A phone started to ring and she immediately tried to follow the sound and then she remembered…she’d put the burner phone in her clutch. The dress she’d worn last night and her clutch were underneath the coffee table. She dropped to the floor and reached under the table and then scrambled to get the phone out.

“Hello?” she answered as she blew a strand of hair out of her face.

“Should I call back later?” the male voice asked in amusement while she caught her breath. “You sound…busy. Didn’t Eliot leave already?”

“What?” She asked with a furrowed brow. “No, I’m not—I was—I couldn’t find the phone, okay?”

“And Eliot said you couldn’t be flustered,” the voice said with a chuckle.

She huffed. “Who the hell _are_ you?”

“Your friendly neighborhood bodyguard. One of them anyway. Just calling to say hello,” he told her.

“Do you have a name, jackass?” she asked as she glared at the floor. This teasing was not putting her at ease.

“Ouch,” he said with a chuckle. “Shelley. Just call me Shelley.” He paused and then said, “Are you watching news on San Lorenzo?”

“How in blue blazes can you hear that? And…there was nothing else on,” she lied.

“Uh-huh,” he said in disbelief. “For a grifter that was a really sad attempt at lying. I’m a bit disappointed. Friendly advice, though, don’t torture yourself. He hasn’t even landed yet.”

“How did you know what I was watching?” she asked waspishly.

“Super hearing. It’s a talent,” he told her. “But, really, change the channel.”

“I can’t,” she admitted with a sigh.

“The more you think about it, the longer it’s going to seem like he’s gone,” Shelley said knowingly. “So, distract yourself.”

“With _what_?” she asked. “I know no one here and I’ve got a psycho criminal after me. Plus, Eliot doesn’t own a computer _or_ have internet. Seriously, _what_ do I distract myself with?”

“You could go back to bed—“

“Tried that. Couldn’t sleep.”

“Did you really, though?” He asked knowingly.

Okay, she thought to herself, so she’d slept in Eliot’s bed and worn his shirt and literally everything in that room smelled like him and reminded her of him—she groaned and rolled her eyes at herself. “No, probably not.”

“Alright then, so this time _try_. And then I’ll bring you lunch.”

“Lunch?” she asked.

“Yes, I’ll be there at 1 with pizza.”

“Pizza?”

“And beer.”

She chuckled and spoke up sarcastically. “Well, yeah, of course. You can’t have pizza without beer.”

“No, you can’t,” Shelley said seriously.

Her eyebrows rose at the reverence in his tone and she bit her bottom lip to keep from laughing. “Okay then, I guess that’s a plan.”

They ended the call and she changed into the shorts and camisole set from her duffel before settling into the guest room. The air in the room was a bit stale and it was furnished with the bare minimum. Clearly no one had ever actually stayed in here. She buried herself under the covers and, without distractions or memories of Eliot surrounding her, she found herself falling asleep.


	8. Chapter Seven: Visitors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire finally meets her baby-sitters while Eliot's still away in San Lorenzo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I love Shelley and I love Tara. And when I decided Claire wouldn't be going to San Lorenzo I knew she would need to interact with something or someone. So my two favorite supporting/almost recurring characters sprang to mind. And then that led to the ending you'll see in this chapter. Hope you enjoy it!

 

She woke up a few minutes before 1 and felt refreshed and well rested. She put on the first of two outfits from her duffel and then put her dress and other things from the night before in the guest room closet. Just as she finished there was a knock at the door. She glanced through the peephole and sized up the man on the other side. He was taller than Eliot, his shoulders were slimmer, and his short hair gave him more boyish charm. He held a pizza box in one hand and a six-pack of beer in the other. She opened the door but didn’t let him in.

Shelley smirked at her and glanced over her long red hair, ripped jeans, and white t-shirt with approval. “You are definitely Eliot’s type,” he said with a chuckle.

She rolled her eyes. “Gee, thanks,” she said in a flat tone. “So nice to know that I’m one of many.”

He winced. “That is _not_ how I meant that.”

She stepped aside and let him in. “Do you have much experience talking to women?”

“Hey! Ladies love me,” he told her with a charming smile and a wink.

“Yeah, I’m not seeing it,” she said with a smirk. “I prefer the strong, silent type.”

“Obviously,” Shelley said as he sat the beer and the pizza down on the breakfast bar. “Eliot’s about as strong and silent as it gets.” Shelley walked around the bar and into the kitchen. He pulled down a couple of plates and handed her one of them before he spoke again. “So, Moreau wants you dead, huh? What’d you do?”

“Informed on him to Italian intelligence. Oh, and he’s obsessed with me,” she said casually as she opened the pizza box. “Do you know how long it’s been since I had _American_ pizza?”

“Yeah, that _Italian_ pizza must have been hard to deal with,” he said sarcastically.

She blinked at him with an unamused expression. “Funny.”

“They can’t all be winners,” he said with a grin.

“Are you this much of a smartass with Eliot?” She asked.

“Absolutely,” he answered. “I’m a smartass with everyone.”

“Never would have guessed,” she said dryly.

“Are _you_ this sarcastic with Eliot?” he asked her in return.

“Absolutely, I’m this sarcastic with everyone,” she said as she repeated his words back to him.

“Smartass and sarcastic,” he said as he motioned between them. “That’s a good match. I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship.”

She laughed and nodded. “Possibly.” She was actually enjoying this quite a bit.

“So, how long have you known Eliot?” he asked.

“I don’t know that ‘how long’ is really the right question for me and him,” she said honestly.

“What does that mean?” Shelley asked curiously.

“We met when I started working for Moreau about seven years ago and we had about two years together before it all went to hell. Yesterday was the first time I’d seen him since then” she told him. “So, technically I guess, seven years but really we only had two.”

“The job that drove him away from Moreau, the one he won’t talk about, you know that is, don’t you?” Shelley asked carefully.

She chuckled bitterly. “Do I know? Moreau gave him the job because of me. That was the beginning of the end.” She pushed the memory back and refused to think about it. That was then, this is now. Eliot had started over. So could she.

“Do you love him?” Shelley asked suddenly.

“So, you’re just gonna dive right in, is that it?” She asked him with a wary glare.

Shelley smiled at her and shrugged. “It’s just a question.”

“Is this you trying to be one of my girlfriends and gossip? Because I don’t have any of those. I wouldn’t know,” she said as she settled a blank expression on him and crossed her arms over her chest.

“I’m taking your lack of answer as a yes.”

She sighed. “If you ask Eliot if he’s ever been in love his answer is ‘once’. That once happened long before me and during the two years we had he never said those three words to me. Which is fine. I never expected him to. It goes with the nature of his job. We had a lot of fun, we cared for each other, protected each other but neither of us have said the words.”

“ _That_ doesn’t answer my question,” Shelley told her pointedly before he repeated himself. “Do you love him?”

She met Shelley’s challenging look with her own defiant one. “If I haven’t told him, what makes you think I’d tell you?”

Shelley’s face broke out into a smile before he spoke. “Great answer.”

“You’re an ass,” she said with a roll of her eyes.

“Yep,” he agreed quickly. “It’s part of my charm.”

“It’s really not.”

“You know you like it.”

He was right. She kind of did.

They finished lunch and had a few beers while they talked some more. Shelley introduced her to Eliot’s movie collection and showed her how to work his DVD player. Then he put in some movie she’d never heard of called _Quigley Down Under_.

“This is Eliot’s favorite,” he said as it started.

“Does he own a movie that’s _not_ a western?” she asked.

“No,” Shelley answered. “None.”

She sighed and then chuckled. “Great.”

She had to admit, the movie was pretty good and young mustached Tom Selleck was far more attractive than she’d anticipated. They got to a gunfight scene and Matthew Quigley, who, much like Eliot, didn’t like guns, killed three men where they stood with out even giving them a chance to aim and then, in reference to guns, stated: _“I said I never had much use for one. Never said I didn’t know how to use it.”_

Her jaw dropped and she smacked Shelley’s arm. “Eliot said that!”

He gave her a confused look and then pointed to the screen. “No, I’m pretty sure Quigley said that. You know Eliot’s not _here_ right?”

She gave him a bored look and smacked him again. “No, dimwit, yesterday Eliot said something eerily similar.”

“He’s seen this movie thousands of times,” Shelley said with a chuckle. “I’m not really surprised.”

They finished the movie and then Shelley decided he should go. As he left he reminded her to call him anything suspicious happened. She nodded and, for the millionth time in the last two days, promised to alert someone if there was any trouble.

“Don’t forget the deadbolt,” Shelley called through the closed apartment door.

“Oh my God, _go home_!” She yelled with a laugh.

“I’ll miss you too!” He yelled in response as she heard his footsteps retreating down the hall.

How was Eliot friends with such a goofball? She sat back down on the couch and put in another Tom Selleck western. Who knew he made so many? For some reason, he reminded her of Eliot. They looked nothing a like but the demeanors were similar. She hated to admit it, but she was really starting to like westerns.

* * *

 

She woke up on the couch the next morning. She’d stayed up too late watching movies and had fallen asleep. According to the clock on Eliot’s wall it was 11 AM. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and realized her phone was ringing. She picked it up, expecting it to be Shelley, but the number was different.

“Hello?” she answered with a yawn.

“Did you just wake up?”

“Do none of Eliot’s friends say hello?” she asked the female voice on the other end of the line.

“Alright, well, _hi_ ,” the voice answered in amusement.

“Hi.”

“Claire, right?”

“Yes.”

“I’m Tara, baby-sitter #2.”

“Do you _have_ to refer to yourself as a baby-sitter?” she asked as she scrunched her nose up in disgust.

“Yes.”

“Okay then,” she said in a slightly taken aback tone. Well, at least she was honest.

“Shelley warned me you were bored.”

“No, why would he say that? I can absolutely fill an indeterminate amount of time with western films, umpteen cable channels, and staring out the window wistfully. How about you?” she asked bitingly.

“He warned me about the sarcasm too.”

“Yippee for you.”

“So, how’s your clothes situation,” Tara asked in a knowing tone. “I’m willing to bet all you had was your go bag which was probably more I.D.s and loose cash than clothes.”

Her eyes widened. She was impressed. “How did you—“

“Grifter,” Tara said as if it were obvious.

“Ah,” she replied. Well, that cleared up a lot.

“And it’s highly unlikely Eliot thought about your wardrobe before he left.”

“That’s a good bet,” she said with a grin and she entertained the thought of Eliot going shopping for her. The amount of grumpy or exasperated expressions she imagined were numerous and hilarious.

“The odds are strongly in my favor, yes.”

“I have one outfit left and then it’s either laundry or steal Eliot’s sweats. Maybe both.”

“Right, we should go shopping,” Tara told her. “See you in an hour.”

And then the line went dead.

“Gee, people come and go so quickly here,” she said to Eliot’s empty apartment. Of course, there was no one around to understand her _Wizard of Oz_ reference. She sighed and started to get ready for the day. Eliot’s friends were…interesting.

Exactly an hour later, a tall blonde showed up at the apartment door. Claire opened the door and stepped aside to let her in. Tara gave her a once over and smirked at her outfit, a black off the shoulder t-shirt and extra tight skinny jeans with wedge laced ankle boots.

“Good choice in go bag outfits. Shows enough of skin and your curves to be distracting but covers enough to allow you to blend in and disappear. The wedge heels are fashion forward and functional and still allow you to move pretty quickly. Smart,” Tara said appreciatively.

“Thank you,” Claire said with a grin and a nod.

“Alright, where’s Eliot’s stash?” Tara asked.

“Stash?” Claire asked with a furrowed brow.

“Expense money. I know he left you some,” she said as she glanced around the apartment for a hiding spot.

Claire gave her a wary look and casually made her way to the kitchen, away from the floorboard where Eliot kept his loose cash, under the guise of turning off the kitchen light. She then turned and said, “Oh no, we’re not using Eliot’s money.”

“We’re not?” Tara asked with a quirk brow.

“Hell no, I’ve had a sugar daddy for long enough, don’t you think?” Claire asked with a wry smirk.

“Then what are we spending?”

“Do you honestly think I would take a job informing on the most dangerous man in the world _for free_?” Claire asked her in a flat tone. “I mean, am I grifter or am I a grifter?”

Tara chuckled. “You conned a paycheck out of Italian intelligence?”

She smirked but said nothing. “They set up an American bank account for me under an alias while I was with Moreau. I think it’s high time I spent some of it.”

“You’ll need a new grifter wardrobe, of course,” Tara said with a nod. “It’s not like you’ll be staying in Boston.”

Claire furrowed her brow at Tara. “How did you—“

“I did my research. If I had been trapped with Moreau for seven years there is no way I would stay in one place for very long. I’d need to stretch out and push my limits,” Tara told her. “Especially since you started with him so young. You never really had a chance to see what you can do.”

“You’re good,” Claire said with raised eyebrows.

“I know,” Tara said proudly.

“Most people don’t get that,” Claire told her in a relieved tone. It was nice to have another grifter around. She’d been the only one she knew for far too long, and Sophie made her too uncomfortable to really enjoy it.

“Most people don’t do what we do.”

Tara took her to Boston’s best boutiques and designer stores. Claire had a hard time at first because it had been so long since she’d shopped for herself. Moreau always had her wardrobe brought to her. Personal preference wasn’t a big concern to him. She wasn’t sure what her style was anymore. She'd been close to tears more than once. There was too much to look at, too much to think about. _Just too damn much._

“There’s too many choices,” she told Tara with a tearful sigh as she collapsed in a near by chair and ran her hands through her hair. Shopping never used to make her shake with frustration. She used to enjoy it, years ago.

“Okay,” Tara said patiently as she sat down next to her. “Let’s try this, we’ll start with something versatile and basic: the little black dress.”

Claire nodded silently and let Tara pick out several things for her first. She tried on so many dresses. None felt quite right. Some were too revealing and Claire had been taught that it was always best to withhold during a con. Some were too dowdy and withheld _too much_. She needed something classy _and_ sexy. Something glitzy yet understated. It was a difficult balance.

Finally, she found one. It had a mesh top and sleeves with an illusion sweetheart neckline on the bodice. The bodice and the skirt were covered in sequins. The dress stopped about five inches above her knee and if she found the right pair of stilettos even her short legs would look _killer_. It was perfect. Tara agreed it would be the perfect secret weapon on a con and was classic enough to fit several different characters. She took a long moment to admire herself in the dress. There were the tears again. At some point she'd have to stop doing this. She furiously wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand and Tara gave her an understanding smile.

"You okay, kid?"

She smiled and sniffled as she turned in the mirror and observed her expression from all angles. "Yeah, yeah I'm great. I just--" She looked upward and took a deep breath to clear the tears from her eyes. "This is the first time I've looked anything like that girl I left behind 7 years ago."

"Did you miss her?" Tara asked with a small smile.

"I didn't think so. But now I know I did."

"Maybe you'll see a little more of her from now on," Tara told her with a grin.

Once that first item was out of the way everything else suddenly clicked. She discovered several things about her personal style after that. She liked dark colors, she found, and very fitted items that showed off her curves. (She had serious hips and an undeniable ass. Yes, she admired her own curves. It had taken her a long time to embrace them, but she made them  _work_.) Sashaying her hips strategically had distracted many a mark.

The next thing they focused on was a corporate wardrobe. She bought pantsuits, skirt suits, fitted blouses and blazers. Then Tara talked her into buying two evening gowns and _several_ cocktail dresses before they, finally, got to casual clothing. She discovered she loved dark wash skinny jeans and studs and chains, anything with a bit of an edge to it. She liked simple, clean, classic lines. And boots. She _loved_ boots. She bought sweats and work out clothes and pajamas. Where she would keep all of these clothes, she didn’t know. She’d need to find a storage unit or an apartment. Somewhere to use as a base and a place to store wardrobe. She was already flipping through possible locations in her head.

“Where the hell am I going to keep this stuff?” Claire asked Tara with a huff.

“Keep the essentials at Eliot’s for now,” Tara told her without a moment’s hesitation. “We can put the rest in my storage unit until you get your own.”

“Thanks,” Claire told her with a pleasantly surprised tone.

“If Eliot trusts you, I trust you,” Tara told her dismissively.

The “because Eliot doesn’t trust _anyone_ ” half of that sentence was implied but unsaid. They both knew how rare Eliot’s trust was.

“I could say the same thing about you,” Claire said with a nod. “Thanks for this, by the way, and for not judging all the times I freaked out today. It’s been so long since I—“

“Since you were able to make your own decisions,” Tara finished for her. “It’s overwhelming when you’ve got that freedom again. Trust me, I know. You’re doing pretty well with it, actually. Better than I did.”

Claire gave Tara a curious glance but didn’t dare ask. If she didn’t want to share her experience she doubted Tara did.

But Tara continued, “It was different circumstances and it’s a story for another time, but just know, I’ve been exactly where you are and I get it. The only difference between the two of us, really, is that I was prepared for it with Army training. So I’d say, given your civilian status you’re handling this remarkably well.”

“I didn’t have Army training, no, but I _did_ have vicious rhetoric,” Claire told her with a smirk to break Tara’s growing tension.

“I’m sure they were terrified,” Tara told her with a sarcastic grin.

“Nah, more like pissed, but—hey—I was _good_ at it,” Claire said with a lopsided smile.

Tara chuckled. “I’ll bet you were.”

“I had this job once,” Claire said as she sat down in a shoe store and reached for a pair of boots. “Moreau wanted me to get this guy to sell his shares to him so he could work this hostile takeover. Easy peasy, play the innocent ignored mercenary’s girlfriend with the heart of gold—“

“The _Born Yesterday_ act,” Tara said knowingly as she sat down next to her.

“Yes, exactly, and let this guy think he could save me, _if only_ he didn’t technically work for Moreau. I had the job nearly completed when Chapman made some smug remark about a grifter being a choice _investment_ like I was property. Which I should have been used to I suppose, but hearing Chapman say it instead of Moreau just _really_ pissed me off. So I fucked it up,” she said with a smirk and a shrug. “I pushed a little too hard, went a little too far with the character. Made it too complicated—“

“He figured it out and backed out,” Tara finished.

“Yes and when Moreau confronted me about it, I told him that if I was going to be an investment then I deserved a cut. And I wouldn’t do a damned thing for him until he gave me one--which was stupid and did not go over well—“ she said as she absently rubbed her left wrist. “ _But_ later when he was trying to make it up to me I got to plant the bug in his ear that Chapman talked shit about him to his men and encouraged me to demand a share of the deal.”

“With your thickest southern accent and saddest eyes,” Tara stated as she pretended not to notice the ill alignment of Claire’s wrist or the way she held it protectively.

“Of course,” she said with a chuckle. “Chapman ended up on bouncer duty for a whole month. Which he hated. He didn’t get to kill anyone for four weeks. It made him so much easier to mess with. It was the most fun I’d had since—“ she stopped herself short and distracted herself with the boot as she continued. “Since before Eliot left. So when it comes to pissing off powerful men, I am the master. It gives me a sick sense of glee to watch an arrogant man writhe.”

Tara smirked wryly at her and nodded. “There’s nothing better,” she agreed.

Claire laughed as she pulled on one of the boots. “Grifters are a weird group, aren’t we?”

“The weirdest,” Tara said with a nod. “My least favorite jobs are the ones where I can’t mess with the mark. For instance, I stole a painting from this guy once who was a complete abusive jackass. He blackmailed and intimidated his wife into staying with him. Not to mention, he holds a pre-nup over her head to say that he could frame her for violating it at the drop of a hat. I desperately wanted to screw with this guy, but the job was too big of a payday to risk it. And I may have owed some not so nice guys a big chunk of change so I couldn’t do it. I had to let this piece of shit continue to victimize this woman. It’s been eating at me for three years now.”

Claire’s eyes flashed angrily and she stepped into the other boot a little more forcefully than necessary. Tara tensed at the sight of it. She knew she’d said something important.

“Oh, _hell no_ ,” Claire said with a glare. “Have you kept tabs on him?”

Tara quirked a brow at her. She knew that look now. Nate got that look sometimes. Sophie too. It was vengeance and fire and the impending con hung in the air between them. “Claire, are you thinking what I think you’re thinking?”

“Do you think I’m plotting this dick’s demise? Because if so then _yes_ ,” She said as she stood up and walked slowly to a mirror to look at the boots.

Tara sighed tiredly. “You really wanna do this?”

“I gotta find a con somewhere, right? Why not help someone while I do it?” She asked. “Eliot does it.”

“Eliot has a whole team behind him,” Tara reminded her. “He has help.”

Claire smirked up at Tara from the mirror before she said decisively, “Then _help_ me. You know the mark already, after all. You could help me plan.”

“You’re going to do this even if I don’t, aren’t you?”

“Of course,” Claire said with a chuckle. “Once I get an idea, I don’t let it go. You’ll learn.”

“Fine,” Tara said in a resigned tone. “I’ll help you. But _just_ this once. Clear?”

“Clear,” Claire said with a nod before she gave Tara a gleeful smile. “This is gonna be fun.”

 


	9. Chapter Eight: A Fresh Start

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire begins to make real plans and receives a long awaited phone call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the last chapter from a Claire driven narrative and for Ruthless Game. I'm posting a part two called, Mosaic Broken Hearts. This one is from Eliot's POV. Never really planned on a part two but it just makes sense if I'm switching POVs on you, right? So look forward to that! I've got lots more ideas for Claire and Eliot so I don't see their journey ending any time soon. I hope you guys don't mind a long series because I have a feeling about this one. Haha. Happy reading!

 

“This is a terrible idea,” Shelley said the next day when he came over to find Tara and Claire planning a long con. “I mean truly horrible.”

Claire rolled her eyes at him. “It’s a simple long con. We’re thinking of using a turnabout. It’s the simplest thing to pull off with our desired effect.”

Tara nodded. “It should be easy. We’ve already got her way in.”

“Wait,” Shelley said with a sigh as he rubbed a hand across his brow. He looked at Claire expectantly. “You’re planning on going in alone?”

“He knows Tara,” she said with a shrug. “She can’t go in with me. Besides, I’ve done solo cons before. I can do them again. Piece of cake.”

Shelley gave Tara a concerned glance before he turned back to Claire. “Hubris or moxy?” he asked.

Claire gave him a confused look. “What?”

“Your attitude, is it hubris or moxy?” Shelley repeated.

Claire grinned at him. “Moxy. All moxy.”

“Good,” he said seriously. “Hubris will get you killed.” He shook his head and stood up and paced in front of them. “Eliot’s gonna kill me if something happens to you and he finds out I knew about this.”

“Relax,” Tara said dismissively. “That won’t happen for at least two and a half weeks.”

“That, surprisingly, does _not_ make me feel any better,” Shelley told her.

“If you’re so worried about it, you should come with me,” Claire said as she gave him a measuring glance. “You can be my muscle. I might need it, honestly.” He gave her a doubtful look but she continued. “This way you can make sure I come back in one piece so Eliot doesn’t murder you.”

Shelley chewed on the inside of his cheek thoughtfully and then nodded. “That is a very distinct advantage.”

“Plus,” Tara said with a smirk. “A second might actually help with this. Isla could use a bodyguard.”

“Isla?” Shelley asked with a furrowed brow. “Who the hell is Isla?”

“My character,” Claire told him before she addressed Tara’s thought. “That would certainly add an interesting layer. I like it.”

“It sounds like I’m in this whether I like it or not,” Shelley said with a huff. “This is a terrible idea. _Terrible_.”

Claire chuckled dryly. “Welcome to the life of a grifter, my friend.”

The next four days were spent planning out the con and gathering information on the Mark. They needed to know his goals and dreams and everything he had ever wanted. They needed to know what they could hurt him with and how they could safely remove his wife from the situation. They needed to figure out how to get rid of the pre-nup and the blackmail. This woman deserved to walk away with half, if not all, of this man’s money. It was up to the three of them to make sure it turned out that way.

Planning a con with Shelley and Tara was the freest Claire had felt in a very long time. It was cathartic for her, honestly. She could give this woman something that no one else could and she could take away her fear. If she did it right. She was aware that this didn’t make all of her problems go away and it didn’t make her any less of a criminal but damn did it feel good. She felt like her own person and she felt more in touch with who she had been before Moreau than she had been before. That girl was still somewhere inside of her and she needed to find her again.

But then it hit her that it was day eight since Eliot had gone to San Lorenzo. It had been longer than a week. He should have contacted her by now. The job should be finished and if it wasn’t then they were all screwed and Eliot was…

No, she wouldn’t go there yet. Not enough time had passed for her to assume the worst. Neither Shelley nor Tara had called her yet. She told them to take the day for themselves and that she would call them if she needed them for anything. No one would be interrupting her today. She glanced at Eliot’s television and then at the remote. Surely, it wouldn’t hurt to try and see a little bit of news on San Lorenzo. Or any news at all really. She’d been keeping herself cut off from it as much as she could because Shelley was right. The more she reminded herself of where Eliot was, the longer it would seem he was gone.

But it was day eight and the nagging worry she’d been suppressing had officially bubbled its way to the surface. She needed to know _something_. So, she turned on the TV and flipped through channels until she reached a news channel.

_“In an astonishing turn of events, President Ribera of San Lorenzo has resigned his office. This exciting election has ended with the hopeful end of corruption in San Lorenzo as Damien Moreau has been arrested for the assassination of the President-Elect’s fiancé, Rebecca Ibanez. Today, San Lorenzo mourns the loss of an inspiring citizen but celebrates their return to true and fair democracy—“_

Claire immediately dropped the remote and stared at the television in shock. What the hell had they been up to in San Lorenzo? How had they managed that? There was no way Ribera actually lost that election! Moreau had that election locked up for him. How in the hell did they—

Her burner phone rang loudly and she jumped up from the couch to search for it. Where did she leave it? What if that was Eliot? She ran from room to room until she finally found it in her nightstand drawer.

“Hello?” She answered eagerly. The number that called her wasn’t Tara’s or Shelley’s.

“Arm Candy, what’s up?” Hardison asked loudly. “Did you see what we did? Hell yeah, baby! We stole a damn election!”

She grimaced and held the phone away from her ear as he yelled. “Yeah, I saw,” she said tersely. Why was Hardison the one calling her? Then she heard Eliot growling in the background and the sound of soft shuffling filled her ears.

“Hello?” a voice asked. “Who is this?”

Claire’s brow furrowed. “It’s Claire. Who’s this?”

“Oh! Hey, sis! I didn’t call you. Why are you calling me? Wait, whose phone is this?”

_“Parker, give me the damn phone!”_

“Oh! Eliot! Your girlfriend called me!”

“No, actually I’m not—I didn’t— _someone called me!_ ” She shouted after stuttering through her sentence. There was more shuffling before a maniacal giggle could be heard fading away from the phone.

“Claire?” Eliot’s gruff voice asked.

“Oh thank god,” Claire said with a sigh of relief. Not just at him finally getting the phone but at the sound of his voice. He was still alive. The tension in her shoulders released and her chest seemed to loosen up. She didn’t even realize she’d been that tense to begin with.

“Job’s done,” Eliot told her simply. He paused and she could sense him relaxing slightly through the phone. “Moreau’s gone. He’s in prison and won’t be getting out any time soon.”

She tried to keep herself from doubting him but it wasn’t working. “You really think a cell is going to hold him?”

“This one will,” he promised. “The Italian’s going to make sure of it.”

“So, he’s done?” Claire asked in disbelief. “Out of my life forever?”

“There’s one less person in the world trying to kill you,” Eliot said in a wry tone.

She chuckled at him. “Exactly how many people do you think are out there trying to kill me?”

“Well, I wouldn’t know, darlin’ but from what I remember you never had any trouble making enemies,” he said with an audible smirk. “We leave in the mornin’.” He stated before taking a deep breath. “You gonna be waiting on me when I get home?”

She smiled brightly and felt tears coming to her eyes. Happy tears. She hadn’t had those in a while. She touched a hand to her wet cheeks and then let out a soggy laugh. He was gone. Moreau was gone.

She was _free_.

“Claire, sweetheart? You still with me?” He asked worriedly.

“I’m still with you,” she answered with a contented sigh. “And I’ll be with you for the next two weeks. Just as promised.” 

It was funny how making your own choice to stay somewhere made it seem completely new.

“Good. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

“Can’t wait,” she said honestly as she cradled the phone closer. “You know, I actually miss you, Spencer.”

He chuckled. “Imagine my surprise. Miss you too, darlin’.”

* * *

 

She wasn’t remembering it wrong. He’d said tomorrow night. Well, here it was ‘tomorrow night’ and he still wasn’t home. It was 11 PM. Where was he? If his flight had been delayed he would have called her, right? What if something terrible had happened? What if Moreau wasn’t as locked away as they thought?

No, no. She was being paranoid. She sighed and blew out the candles she’d lit around the apartment and then ducked into the bathroom and pulled on the terry cloth robe she’d bought the other day. It was a bit chilly in just her silk blue teddy. She retreated to Eliot’s bedroom and lay down on his bed. She hadn’t slept there since that first attempt right after he left for San Lorenzo. She hadn’t wanted to be reminded of him, but now that’s exactly what she wanted. She rolled onto her side and closed her eyes. She never expected to fall asleep, but she should have known she would have. It was just her luck.

She woke up the next morning to the smell of bacon and pancakes and the glorious smell of breakfast. She was still wrapped in the robe, however, she was tucked under the covers and the other side of the bed had definitely been disturbed. She stepped out of bed and grabbed a pair of Eliot’s socks out of his dresser. She quickly slipped them on her feet before padding out into the kitchen. She couldn’t stop the huge smile from spreading across her face at the sight that greeted her.

Eliot making breakfast. Eliot in one piece.

 _Eliot_.

“Glad you managed to stay whole,” Claire said as she leaned against the breakfast bar and beamed at him.

He looked up and grinned at her, slowly and sinfully. “We had a deal, didn’t we?”

“We did.”

“And I held up my end,” he told her as he set a plate in front of her.

“You did,” she agreed as she glanced down at the plate and then back up at him. He’d have to forgive her if she let it get cold. “And now it’s my turn to hold up mine.” She shrugged off the robe and let it fall to the floor before she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him in for a long intrusive kiss. He didn’t hesitate to react. One callused hand cupped her face while he placed the other on the small of her back pressed her closer to him. Though she wasn’t sure that was entirely possible. She’d already gotten herself as close to him as she could get.

As they kissed she felt his hand move from the small of her back and he slipped a finger under the silk strap of her teddy that was tied at the top of her shoulder. He pulled back from her with a smirk. “This for me?” He asked.

She blushed and grinned. “Maybe.”

“You know, I’ve never been the type to care about this kind of thing. I’d be just as happy if you were in one of my shirts.”

She chuckled and kissed him slowly before she pulled away and slipped one of her hands in his hair. “I remember, but this…is the shade of blue you said you liked to see me in.”

“You mean the shade of blue I like to take _off_ of you?” He asked her with a dangerous half smile. 

“You like it that much, huh?” Claire asked with a slow smile as his fingers tugged at the bow over her right shoulder. The right side of her teddy went slack and then his other hand quickly found the second bow. He untied the bow and the blue silk teddy pooled around her feet. He stepped back and looked her up and down. Her scrapes had mostly healed and her black eye was all but gone, she knew she looked ten times better than she had before. But, for some reason, it felt like the look he gave her had nothing to do with how she looked at all, but more to do with the fact that she was there. More to do with the idea of her actually standing in front of him after all these years. He gave her the feeling he was trying to drink in every inch of her. This moment, standing naked in his kitchen, was probably the single most thrilling and simultaneously terrifying moment of her life. 

And then he kissed her. Fiercely and completely. Now she knew exactly what he was doing. He was making up for lost time. Or maybe it was more like stolen time because neither of them had really had a choice. Either way, she thought as she kissed him back, she was all for it. 

She was still planning on leaving in two weeks. That hadn’t changed. But this right now, with him, felt like a new beginning.

A fresh start.


	10. Mosaic Broken Hearts (Preview)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Excerpt from the follow up story Mosaic Broken Hearts, which is currently in progress and updated weekly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I started the sequel to Ruthless Game several months back but I'm afraid some of you may not have realized this or seen the story in the section. It was an abrupt decision to make this a series instead of continuing to post under this title. The sequel is called Mosaic Broken Hearts and is an Eliot driven narrative that picks up where Ruthless Game left off! You can find it on my profile or by clicking on the series link at the bottom of the page. 
> 
> Anyway, in order to resolve this issue and make sure everyone was aware Mosaic Broken Hearts existed I thought I would post an excerpt of the first chapter here for you guys to enjoy!
> 
> Ruthless Game is complete but the story continues with Mosaic Broken Hearts.  
> Happy reading!  
> angellwings

He was back and she was still here. For a little while anyway. He smiled warmly at her as he watched her sleep. In all his years and all his experiences, he’d never met anyone like her before or since. From the beginning she’d been both frustrating and fascinating for him.

Both times Claire came storming into his life he’d been completely blindsided. Not once did he ever see her coming. Definitely not the first time, when he’d overheard her so eloquently telling Chapman to “Fuck off” and then watched her _dare_ him to lay a hand on her. She was all fire and impulse with an inevitable explosion following in her wake. Inevitable. That was a good word for her. He should have known it was inevitable she’d find her way back to him too. But he didn’t. His heart had stopped when Moreau called out her name. He’d told himself she’d gotten away from Moreau and maybe he really believed that or maybe it was a lie he’d convinced himself of so he didn’t have to think about her still there. She was still beautiful, but her fire had dimmed a little and her gaze was more careful and guarded than he’d ever seen it. Had _Moreau_ done that to her? Had the monster tried to smother the flame completely? If he’d had a few more years the bastard may have succeeded.

But he didn’t and she was out now. Safe. For the time being anyway.

She had plans. Eliot knew she did. She wanted freedom and enough room to stretch her legs. He understood that. She’d been caged for far too long, but selfishly he wanted to keep her with him as long as he could. He’d bartered for two weeks and, thankfully, he’d gotten it. She didn’t realize this right now, but the first week with Moreau finally gone would be her hardest. It would hit her sooner or later and then she’d crash. He knew she would. It had happened to him.

He was determined to be there when she hit that wall.

Right now, she was asleep, naked and curled into his side. She seemed to be sleeping peacefully, but he’d heard her whimper once or twice already and her muscles were tense. That alone told him something was wrong. She whispered something in her sleep and buried her face in his chest before she whimpered again. He ran a hand through her red waves and moved the hair off her neck. She was sweating and it was starting to stick. As he moved her hair he felt something along the hairline at the base of her neck. Several somethings, actually, and he knew exactly what they were. Little round burn scars in easily hidden places, usually indicated a cigarette butt had been there once upon a time. These were too old to be Moreau’s work though. They’d healed too much for that.

He sighed and placed a kiss on her forehead. No wonder she adapted to Moreau’s abuse so easily. She’d been through it before. He heard a sob escape her lips and held her tighter. “I’ve got you, darlin’. Relax,” he whispered against her forehead. Hoping somehow she’d hear him through whatever nightmare she was having. It appeared to work for a moment. The tension in her muscles eased a bit and she snuggled further into him, but a second later she awoke with a startled gasping sob and moved herself as far away from him as possible. He watched her for a moment as she curled into herself on the opposite side of the bed and just listened.

Desperate choking sobs and it sounded like she was having trouble breathing. Was she hyperventilating? Had she hit that wall he’d been dreading since they’d gotten her away from Moreau?

He reached across the bed and pulled her to him. She was still turned away and curled into herself, though. Her hands covered her face and he could feel her shaking. He draped an arm over her middle and pulled her bare back against his chest. “Claire,” he said softly. He’d started to say something else but apparently that was enough because she immediately turned, wrapped her arms around him tightly and buried her face in his chest as she continued to choke out sobs.

“Talk to me, sweetheart,” he said with a gulp. “What’s going on? Did you have a nightmare?”

She nodded against his chest.

“Tell me about it?” He asked gently. “Trust me, if anyone understands nightmares it’s me.”

She did nothing but sob for a few more long moments and he was afraid she was too lost in her fear to hear him. But finally she managed to speak. “There were p-people, s-s-so many people. I couldn’t—I couldn’t—“ she stopped and buried her face into his chest again with her eyes shut tight. She removed her arms from around him and ground the heels of her hands into her eyes. She stuttered a few more times before she could continue but he could barely hear her through her hands. “People piled on top of people. All dead. And I—Oh god, I helped him. I helped him. He moved all of those weapons into the hands of—people died and I _helped_ him.”

And there it was. _The Wall._

The sobbing started again and soon her words became nonsense. She was trying to talk but through the shaking and the sobbing he couldn’t understand what she was saying. He did the only thing he knew to do. He held her, stroked her hair, kissed her forehead, let her cry. Nothing else would help at this point. She wasn’t taking in much air, he could feel her struggling for a breath.

“Okay,” he said soothingly. “You gotta breathe, darlin’. You’re gonna make yourself sick.”

“Monsters don’t—“ shuddering breath. “D-deserve to—“ heartwrenching sob. “Breathe.”

He tried not to wince as the full force of her words hit his ears, but he couldn’t help it. He knew _exactly_ what she was feeling. He felt it himself nearly every day. He kissed her forehead again and then tucked his hand under her chin to force her to look at him. “Sit up. Stay here. And, please, _breathe_. I’m going to get you some water. Okay?”

She nodded and reluctantly released him. He waited until she was sitting up with her back against the headboard before he left for the kitchen. He came back a short moment later with a bottled water and placed it in her hands.

“Drink it slowly,” he told her. “And then we’ll talk about it.”

She did as he asked and after a couple of sips she surprised him by reaching out and lacing her fingers through his. She clutched at his hand like a lifeline. He’d never seen her like this before but then she’d been through some pretty tough shit in the last five years they were apart. And, he thought, probably in the 19 years leading up to their meeting as well. Though, she’d never disclosed any of that to him just as he’d never disclosed any of his past to her. It was a silent agreement they’d fallen into. Don’t ask, don’t tell.

“Hey,” he said softly as he squeezed her hand to get her attention. She turned an empty gaze on him and he stroked her hand with his thumb in an attempt at a comforting gesture. He met her eyes and gave her a meaningful look. “You did what you had to…to survive.”

She let out a short sob that almost sounded like a chuckle and spoke in a hollow tone. “It wasn’t worth it. I’m not—I’m not worth it.”

“You don’t get to decide that,” Eliot told her quickly. He knew where this was heading and it was a dangerous place. One he needed to make sure she stayed away from.

“Then who does?” She asked. “Because whoever chooses, chose wrong. I should have let myself die. I mean I’d resigned myself to it anyway. I knew he would end up killing me. _I knew it_. Why am I not dead, Eliot? I should be. Everything I did for them. Everything I helped them accomplish.”

His brow furrowed. Them? She was talking about more than one person now. What exactly did she do before Moreau that led her to where she was now? She clearly wasn’t proud of it. “I don’t know who chooses, but you’re still here for a reason, Claire. You just have to find it.”

“I’m not you. There’s no happy little found family waiting for me out there. It’s just me. It’s always just me,” Claire told him as tears streaked down her cheeks. She wasn’t sobbing anymore, he decided to take that as a good sign.

He squeezed her hand again. “It’s not just you. Not anymore. You may not want me around all the time and I get that, but I’m here. All you gotta do is call and I’m there. Where ever you are, if you need me, I’ll find you.”

She closed her eyes for a moment and her tears fell freely before she looked at him with confused questioning eyes. “Why?”

“Because if anyone knows what this is, this feeling you have of guilt and loss and worthlessness, it’s me. I’m the person who understands that best. You got bodies and screaming faces in your dreams, I got ‘em in mine too. Only I can promise you mine are a lot louder and a lot bloodier. You got things to atone for, so do I. I dealt with this same thing, years ago, but unlike you I didn’t have anyone to tell,” he said honestly.  “Why do you think I only sleep an hour and a half a night? You think I want to do that? No, sweetheart, I don’t get a choice. That’s the hand I played. I know I’m going to hell. I have no doubts. I just figure I should do a little good with whatever time I got left.”

She gasped softly and then set the water bottle down on the bedside table. He started to ask her if everything was okay, but she curled herself into him and pressed a kiss on his neck. She sniffled before she spoke again. “I used to tell myself that same thing every morning. That _exact_ thing.”

“See?” Eliot said with a bitter half smile. “Not just you.” He kissed her temple and wrapped an arm around her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read the rest of the first chapter by going to the second story in the series, Mosaic Broken Hearts! Thanks so much for reading and commenting and for all your kudos!


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